"Hey, Jack." a voice greeted him breathlessly. Jack straighted and sat up in his seat. "Hey, Dave." he said flatly, leaning against the seat.

"So, how was selling?" David asked brightly.

"Pretty good." Jack shrugged, looking down at the table and sighing once more. David frowned at Jack. Lately his friend had had the personality of a wet dishtowel.

"So," David ventured, attempting to get some conversation going, "what's been happening lately?"

"Eh, well, Kloppman's neice, Clara's stayin' at da Lodgin' House now. And, uh, Lynn jus' brought some new recuits in." Jack answered dully. David looked at Jack concerned. This had to stop. David steepled his hands on the table. He stared at them briefly and glanced up at Jack. Jack was staring into space, a forlorn look on his face.

"Jack," David sighed in exasperation, "you've got to stop doing this."

"Doin' what?" Jack asked defensively, showing more interest than he had in weeks. David closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. He sighed and opened his eyes, looking directly at Jack.

"Everyday," he began, "I see you buy your usual hundered papes and start selling them. I've never seen you move papers that fast. I've never seen anyone move papers as fast as you've been moving them these past weeks. Jack, you go through the day in a haze, like you're on automatic. You're here physically but who knows where the rest of you is! You don't seem to enjoy anything anymore! You just wake up, sell the papes, and go to bed. Quit moping! You're borderline pathetic!"