The wall was pretty dumb at the best of times, but Yrtl still felt it was deliberately ignoring him, so eventually he gave up and tried the bedroom curtains instead.

“Hey, curtains! Where’s Dona?” The curtains, silent witnesses to the most intimate events that occurred in the apartment, were a paragon of discretion, and refused to disclose.

As a last resort, he tried the ancient, grumpy refrigerator. The light flickered weakly as he opened the door.

“Hey fridge – you know where Dona is?”

“Oh yeah,” it crackled, “she’s gone. Said if you’re gonna blow 10,000 creds gettin’ your rocks off over some broad in your head while she’s servin’ it up on a plate for free, then she’s gonna take it elsewhere.”

“Shit,” said Yrtl.

“Yeah,” it continued, “she’d get more respect from those guys down Halsey – least they’d be payin’ for a real woman.”

“She said that?”

“No,” it replied, “ I said that.”

“Screw you, fridge,” retorted Yrtl, slamming the door so hard the shelves rattled.

Defeated, he left the apartment.