“I don’t want to be here any more.”

The words sounded hollow. The man didn’t even lift his eyes as he said them, nor did he make any move to go. Few seemed to notice him and his rumpled suit as he sat in such a dejected way in the midst of such gaiety.

I noticed. I shouldn’t have. All about me swirled festivities, light hearted conversation, and sumptuous dresses of beautiful women.

Against all reason, I sat the padded footstool in front of the man, “Tell me, good fellow, why would you want to leave such a place?” Slowly his eyes rose to meet mine. He was a handsome man, a Cary Grant with a charming working class edge. His eyes, though sterling blue in color, seemed faded and lifeless.

“Let me ask you, lad,” he rasped, “Have you tried to leave?”

I smiled, “Why would I want to leave?”

“Have you even seen an exit,” he pressed.

“There are countless rooms, and…” I trailed off, looking around.

“Now lad,” he leaned in, “Can you even recall how long you’ve been here, or where here is?”