Excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation – in part because the four of you are possessed with the type of resonant, booming voices I had previously thought were reserved solely for minotaurs. And though it is riveting to learn of your collective distaste for your coworker Karen, and your enthusiasm for s’mores, and your alarm that they don’t make songs like Sussudio anymore, I must ask you to temper the zeal with which you have heretofore conversed. You may not have noticed me here, choking down this hotel dinner (a lethal Stromboli I ordered out of the purest optimism and sheerest folly). But as you can see, I hold in my hand this non-electronic text delivery device, otherwise known as a book. Yes, my rock star appearance and demeanor notwithstanding, I do read. And I had intended to read over dinner. But like Persephone being dragged into the Underworld, I find myself an unwilling participant in your boisterous conversation. And though I know this is not a library, and I do expect a bit of carousing – especially where wine is involved, or even regrettable beers like Heineken – your antics continue to pull me from my preferred activity and into the distressing aspects of your corporate culture, or pop culture, or lack of culture. So, if you could please turn down the volume, then I could blissfully return to these collected short stories of Hilary Mantel. Do we have an accord? Brilliant. I will leave you to it then. Oh, and there is an indoor pool on level two, in case any of you wish to soak your heads. Good evening.