Heads like hotel rooms, one dull beige box replicated worldwide, hundreds per building, thousands per city; always the same furnishings, interchangeable, minimally supportive and barely adequate.
Physically, unless one earned better accommodations- a flat with four bedrooms and a cramped closet resembling a kitchen- one might conceivably die of Japan's notorious lack of living space.
It didn't bother Nagi, Schuldig realized, and hated the boy over his coffee. Without acknowledging this morning's brittle telepath, Nagi escaped the kitchen. Abandoned, dissatisfied, Schuldig resumed roaming hotel room minds, a vandal; subsistences stacked endlessly, grindingly uninspiring, not one in which he'd willingly remain.