Miles and miles across the forest and the highways and then, late at night, cold night, we reach the town. Snow has stopped falling, but the air is frozen. Where are we? Where are we going?
We need to sleep. Where will we sleep?
When the navigator shoes you the writing "a bed of roses" you don't know eactly if you'd like to say "yes, please" or "are you making fun of me?".
But yes. Please.