Claudia shook her head, swirling the remaining ice in her glass. "It's...horrible. I can't--I just can't even imagine." It wasn't the squalor or violence or filth that unnerved her, but the acceptance writ on every hopeless face.

"How do they do it? Just--lie down and take it?" She'd been pushed, prodded, shoved along all of her life, striving for perfection; she'd never been allowed to simply stop. "It seems...a terrible waste. A hopeless ruin of, well, of nothing."

Rambling to a halt, she blinked, stared into her glass and realized it was empty. Then frowned, annoyed at herself. "Jesus," she whispered, propping her head on one hand, "I'm rambling, how bloody idiotic..."