Zeus got in bed in a room in a hotel in Kansas City.  It was not a nice bed, nor was it a nice room.  Nor for that matter was Zeus particularly tired.  It was, however, relatively warm in bed, as the quilts, though somewhat worn, were good, and the room, which looked out through a frosted pane onto a street that was rapidly transforming itself into an aggressive Midwestern maelstrom, was poorly insulated and very cold, and Zeus, now that it had begun to matter, was no longer young.