“Listen, old boy, where are you going?”

“I met a travelling tinker who described a city of the lost. Or with a prison of the lost, or something of that variety, he was extremely addled by sorcerous herbs and I think, booze, also, he was spitting rather and – you know now I think about it – it's possible he was possessed by a demon. Or almost or quasi or intermittently. Or pretending that. – But he did say that there was a city of the lost, or a city anyway with a prison of the lost. That it was the first habitation I'd reach of any serious dimensions; just following this road here that we're on. So I thought I'd – since I'm lost in the grandest and most existential sense, in terms of even I don't know – who I am or what's my purpose for existing – possessing same time the conviction there is one, a purpose, anyway; I mean look around,” he looked around, he was convinced, “I'm entirely convinced this is purposeful. And that anyway I have a purpose too. My only problem, is – that I don't know what it is.”

“Listen, old boy,” he was older, “clearly, whatever your purpose is, or whatever's mine. – I doubt mine is quite as lofty as yours,” he was being polite he didn't believe that at all, he thought he was centrally important to the existence of the universe, “it might even end at finding out where I live,” his purpose, it wouldn't, “that is, if it's not too minging or overall beneath my standing which I can't help feeling is rather high – but that's neither here nor there – whatever that purpose is I think we should team up, or at least in the short to medium term here, until we figure out what is going on. – We can help each other and also as you see I have no means of transportation.”

“Oh!” Shocked at his own rudeness. “Well, let's –”

“– Also, and as you said, the problem is, decidedly arse pain that is – in terms of this indicating it might have been against-its-will fucked – interior?”

“Interior,” he nodded, yes, “Interior.”

“Interior?”

“Interior.”

Thinking, he... Interior. “You say definitely interior?”

“It would have to be interior.”

“Interior.”

“Undoubtedly interior.”

Thoughts more or less that, repeated, with a sensation that, more or less... “Interior.”

“If you don't mind, eh, fellow, there, if it wouldn't be too impertinent – and if you don't mind – why does a fellow keep saying...?”

“Interior.”