He was doing a quick check to make sure he'd brought everything he'd meant to: fresh syringes, cotton balls, spoon, burner, rubber cord... and the drug itself. That done, Cassidy plopped the bag onto the mattress next to him and set about removing his boots.

The silence was the first thing Matt had mentioned that made it sound less than ideal. Oh, he'd made it sound terribly poetic, but there was something oppressive about it, Cassidy imagined, for a person who didn't have those same associations.

"Sounds a lot different from the silence of a truck stop motel." He rifled through his memories for the closest thing he had, something that wouldn't make it seem so alien. "I did pass a handful of years in upstate New York after Woodstock. Gettin' back to nature and shite. Even there, we had the occasional airplane passin' overhead."