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'Course they haven't got our names on 'em, they're the bus doors...

[ But Heathcliff can't be stupid forever, and as his eyes watch her reach to an unfamiliar bedside table, in an unfamiliar room, with a very unfamiliar piece of toast, he gets the sinking feeling that Ishmael, once again, might be right.

He turns his head, winces — all right, maybe the liquor wasn't a dream — and pushes the toast away grumpily and twists around a little, looking at the room. ]

... We ain't on the bus. Where are we?

[ ... Wait. Was the horny casino not a dream? ]