[ As a host of Westworld, Maeve should be able to see it -- the familiar blankness that mention of the porter inspires while still maintaining the ruse of interest. But maybe there, when she mentions nonsense, there's a twinge of something, a struggle. Teddy's chin tucks in, the shadow of his hat falling over his face.

Concrete pavement passes under their feet. When he looks up, a young woman dressed strangely -- blue in her hair, earphones leaking music -- pushes past them both, and Teddy's gaze snags on her. ]

A place I ain't supposed to be, [ he says, a little like it took him some effort to reach that much of s conclusion, and with a glance her way, he adds, ] and I reckon that applies to you as well, if I may say so.

[ His foot steps are dogged without being fast, smoothly knifing his way through the bustle of the street as if most people around him are simply moving objects to be avoided. ]

I expect I encountered those same men, though I don't recall much of what was said. It didn't sound like anything to me.