“Was that housekeeping that just went by?”
The woman sticks her head out of the hotel room door.
“No,” I say, chin-pointing, “but the cart’s down there.” I’d just walked past it, on my way to the ice machine.
“Bless you,” she says, falling in alongside.
“Somewhat excessive,” I say.
“Toilet paper,” she explains.
“All is made clear,” I reply.
She snags a roll from the unattended cart.
“Celtic warrior making a raid,” she quips, heading back down the hall at a goodly clip.