A.W.I.A, Part 8: Tired

He was a man of average height, neither stocky nor scrawny. He wore no jewelry, that I could see. He was middle-aged.

"I've answered a lot of your questions," I told him.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I've been here a long time and I've answered a lot of your questions," I said again.

"Which ones in particular do you feel you've answered?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't think you've answered as many questions as you think you have," he told me, now folding his arms across the pad.

"Nevertheless," I said, "It's time for me to ask something of you."

"I'm not making any promises, but what is it?"

"I'd like a cup of coffee," I told him.

"That I can do," he said, rising.

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