You’ve been here for months, and no one knows anything. It’s just— it’s frustrating and a little much? You know?

[Not to mention disheartening and not boding well for Quentin’s chance of figuring anything out soon, and just being here for a day and half and the darkness is already getting to him. The way it makes the days and nights bleed together in to one long, endless night.]

And you can just do that? Not dwell? Is this where the drinking comes in?