[She's not going far- just past their building, in the empty space between it and the next, occupied by a small park, still mostly concrete, with benches and trailing plants cascading down the sides of geometric, sterile sculptures.

A lot of people. She wonders if that's true, or if it simply that he imagines it must be. That it was home for him, so how could it be different for so many others? The feeling that those around you shared the most cherished sentiments you had. Something to keep you from feeling alone. Even surrounded by others, it was possible to be completely isolated.

Not for them, of course. Not anymore.]

Oh. Yes, you're pretty new, so I guess you're still in the rooms. If it makes you feel better, the station is capable of making doors.

[For those who knew how to ask. Most who learned to do it didn't feel the need for doors anymore, but she knew one of her teachers found some comfort in them.

The crowds are thinner near the park, and by the time she stops, just beside one of the tall vertical planters there aren't many people around them at all. She turns back to him, and to the building Bearings was a part of, face tilting up.]

Here. We have to wait a little bit.