[Maybe the girl's - what was it called? - mundane knew better, and maybe she knew jack shit. Willard half-nods noncommittally, deciding not to touch it. And if there's anyone maneuvering the pieces of his own existence in this place, he's not about to go looking for ways to communicate. Not as if it'd be worthwhile, anyway.

Again, her words don't fit any sense he knows, but Willard follows along as best he can, figuring that he'll try to hold the pieces in mind and see what kind of a picture they form. He isn't hopeful that he'll come up with much, or that the pieces will even stay for long, but if that's the best he can do for now, so be it.]

I'm gonna take a wild guess and say we aren't coming from the same place. Must be different countries. [Or something more, even, though he can't quite process that yet.] I can't say I know what you mean by 'house.' [he could come up with guesses, but why bother with the pretense?]

In any case, I'd say a lion's not a bad thing to be.