More about Samson

Samson is strong and pious. Today at breakfast he told me he's here doing penance for his family; his grandfather was a socialist circus geek who crossed the steppes biting the heads off saints. He likes drowning stories and brewing his own soy sauce. He doesn't measure the distances between things in his home, letting his furniture and paintings butt into each other, especially in the conversation pit that looks out over the woods.

Hatching an escape plan

It's becoming clearer that I am going to have to spin a yarn of my own to follow out of this mess, like Dedalus. That guy with his crazy shells: what was he thinking?

Only the same brainwashed yogurt-swilling chirping ninnies at breakfast; I didn't hear a word of it this time. They talk the same nonsense over and over again, except Samson, who's still so quiet. I think I trust him. But I don't know.
And who is the new one, in the grey sweats? I'll ask at lunch.