Was he hitting on her? Christ, she was so tired, she could barely see straight. There was no way she was going to need any help getting to sleep. She thanked him again and rolled her suitcase across the cavernous lobby with its gigantic chandeliers and to the elevators. But sleep didn't come. The network connection cost a fortune -- something she hadn't seen in years -- and the number of worms and probes bouncing off her firewall was astronomical. The connection was slow and frustrating. Come 2AM, she was, indeed, staring at the ceiling. Would you take drugs offered by a stranger in a hotel lobby? They were in a *Walgreens bottle* for chrissakes. How bad could they be? She picked up the house-phone on the chipped bedstand and punched his hotel room. "Lo?" "Oh Christ, I woke you up," she said. "I'm sorry." "'Sok. Lady from check-in, right? Gimme your room number, I'll send up a melatonin now and a modafinil for the morning. No sweatski." "Uh," she hadn't thought about giving a strange man her room number. In for a penny, in for a pound. "2813," she said. "Thanks." "Geoff," he said. "It's Geoff. New York -- upper West Side. Work in health products." "Suzanne," she said. "Florida, lately. I'm a writer." "Good night, Suzanne. Pills are en route." "Good night, Geoff. Thanks." "Tip the porter a euro, or a couple bucks. Don't bother with rubles." "Oh," she said. It had been a long time since her last visit overseas. She'd forgotten how much minutiae was involved. He hung up. She put on a robe and waited. The porter took about fifteen minutes, and handed her a little envelope with two pills in it. He was about fifteen, with a bad mustache and bad skin, and bad teeth that he displayed when she handed him a couple of dollar bills. A minute later, she was back on the phone. "Which one is which?" "Little white one is melatonin. That's for now. My bad." She saw him again in the breakfast room, loading a plate with hard-boiled eggs, potato pancakes, the ubiquitous caviar, salami, and cheeses. In his other hand he balanced a vat of porridge with strawberry jam and enough dried fruit to keep a parrot zoo happy for a month. "How do you keep your girlish figure if you eat like that?" she said, settling down at his table. "Ah, that's a professional matter," he said. "And I make it a point never to discuss bizniz before I've had two cups of coffee." He poured himself a cup of decaf. "This is number two." She picked her way through her cornflakes and fruit salad. "I always feel like I don't get my money's worth out of buffet breakfasts," she said. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll make up for you." He pounded his coffee and poured another cup. "Humanity returns," he said, rubbing his thighs. "Marthter, the creature waketh!" he said in high Igor. She laughed. "You are really into, uh, *substances*, aren't you?" she said.