[ The fact that this guy needs to think for that long - not just that he's gone a long time without food but that he's totally lost track of it - tells Reynir everything he needs to know. He smiles, unslinging his backpack and undoing the fastening at the top, rooting through it to find the tuppers of food. With a hint of dry sarcasm he answers: ]

I imagine it's a contributing factor.

[ He sets a glass container with a lid, full of something that looks like a very hearty stew, down onto the desk. A moment later, a metal spoon follows. Then, a hunk of bread wrapped in a cloth napkin. Then a plastic bottle of water - if circumstances were different Reynir might share from his own flask, but with illness going around? No way is he taking that risk. ]

I don't suppose you've gotten any sleep between now and then, either?

[ That's not something Reynir can shove into his bag, but he thinks it is a shrewd guess nonetheless. Leaving his bag on the ground, he goes to the trash and says: ]

I'll be back in a moment.

[ Then he picks up the trash and carries it out to deposit in the big, wheeled bin he's been dragging around. The robots must have more efficient ways, but this works for him. He can take it to the agricultural section later, sort out what can be used for fertilizer, what reused, and what should be burned.

He returns and, impulsively, just plonks himself down on the floor, resting his back against the wall and hauling his bag the last foot over towards him, reaching in and pulling out some bread for himself. ]

I could use a break, too.