No.

I dart a look out the window just in case. No one.

I look back at the bed and I'm afraid of that bed. I know that I have a long night's thinking ahead of me. So I put on Queen low and climb beneath the sheets. Then it starts. The Irish are too . . . Irish, don't you agree? Says Scots Bob. You look pale son. Feeling all right? I switch the tape off. Someone passes below on the street. Their conversation reaches my room and in my mind it turns into another conversation altogether. This happens a few times, so that I'm thinking other people's thoughts and making them my own without meaning to till I've gone far beyond the expectations I had when I lay down. Then the talk goes into the interior. The windows of the cleaners steams up. The lorry pulls up and I don't know what I will find in the back.