New people had been continuously arriving, that was the only possible explanation. And R. felt he could judge this fact from their posture, from their murmured inquiries, the frisson of excitement in their tone even as they could locate barely an inch of floor to claim for themselves. You'll get over it, R. wanted to tell them but didn't. He supposed he'd become a kind of veteran of this place, in what felt like little more than an hour. (Time was a ridiculous concept.) Hey, you kids, get off my lawn! he almost joked, but it was hardly funny. He felt both sorry for them and irritated that they could have no idea how easy it had once been to circulate.
At this thought, R. faintly recalled someone, long ago, trying to explain this place to him, the system that prevailed. Of course, he'd paid no attention. You don't care about that kind of stuff until you're forced to, mostly. And why should he have cared to listen then? It wouldn't have done any good. No, be where you are. Be there when you get there. And now he was.
****
