When I'm done, I walk around the room a bit. Everything is modern and stylish, with a bath and shower and a large double bed. I haven't slept anywhere this nice in years, and it's a little too quiet, a little too pristine. I sit on the bed, watch Hindi TV just for some company. I order dinner in my room. That night when I go to bed, I find I can't sleep. The bed is too soft, too big, after so many years of sleeping on trains, in cars, on bunk beds, sofas, futons, Ana Lucía's narrow bed. Now I'm like one of those rescued castaways who, once rescued and back in civilization, can only sleep on the ground.
On Friday I wake up and practice my lines again. Shooting doesn't start for another three days, and they stretch out in front of me, endlessly, like the blue-gray sea outside my window. Whe
