"There is that," I admitted. And with that we both sank back into our private contemplations. It was funny in a way, I had to admit. Even with the drek dropping into the pot around me, it was reassuring—calming, in a way—to have someone with me who was getting ragged over by it all as royally (no pun intended) as I was. What was the old saying: "Misery loves company"? We sipped our Scotch and we stared at the carpet and we thought our bleak thoughts.