Stuck for a brief while on a beat-up and crowded station circling a dying sun at a safe distance, Tlön felt ill at ease. He would regain his solitude soon enough, but nearly everyone else in sight was hard pressed. One group negotiated with another for food; another two groups haggled over a new shipment of arms; and the remaining few groups had ample fun, apparently unaware of troubles eventually to come their own way. He knew that talking to any of them made no sense whatsoever. Transfer to another world was an option for only a few. He was polite with everyone, but he carefully avoided mentioning anything about his own world. It was too far away, anyhow. As Tlön contemplated his imminent departure, he felt relieved. But he also felt ever more uneasy about his immortality. How many more calamities to witness?! Alas, no-one is perfect!