It is late at night in a foreign land. Three guests are stranded in a hotel lobby. The tension of division perfumes the air. Horace and Colt, a fifty-something married couple, are divided - they have lost the key, to their room and to each other. Another woman, Diana, reads a book and is divided from the real world by fiction. On the surface, their exchanges are trivial and stilted. Nothing really happens. But as each retreats into their private worlds of fantasy, a much more lively story unfolds - a story of confrontations that should have happened, of secrets that need to be revealed. Horace seeks the repair of his masculine identity damaged by a partner who won’t make love to him. Colt seeks the repair of a femininity damaged by an earlier incest. Diana seeks to escape the wasteland of lies she can’t stop telling. The action of the story derives from the collision of these two competing worlds. The brittle containment of the surface is no match for the volatile eruptions from the unspoken interior - a harrowing and erotic underworld of need and confession that permits the release of all that has been silenced.