"Sure." Johnny sticks one in his mouth and gropes around his pockets again, and quickly realizes he doesn't have any way to light them. Stupid. He starts opening drawers. Gotta be matches around here somewhere.

"They're all kinda different," he says with a shrug. "They're all terrible, in their own special way."

Ah, there we are. He picks up a little matchbook from what seems to be a well-stocked junk drawer and strikes up the flame, lighting his cigarette, inhaling deeply and releasing the mouthful of smoke a moment later. That's better. He passes the book over to Rashad.

"The outside changes too," he says. "So I figure what we gotta do is find a way out, but happen to be in a shitty room when it happens. Then if we cross through the door to the outdoors it'll be nice. Right?"