"So, where the cowboys are. That's disappointing. I like cowboys." Or rather, he likes the idea of cowboys. He's only seen them in films.

Norton sits on the edge of the bed, perched with knees together and hands daintily on his lap. He glances at a photograph of the "happy couple" sitting on the nightstand. It must have appeared while he was sleeping. Like her. It's bloody unnerving.

"What's your name?"