While a patient sat near Guy, the fact that he was a few chairs down from him meant that it was hard to know if he really wanted to talk. Considering the fact that he spent a few minutes looking at his food and probably trying to will himself to eat it, Guy figured it was best if he left him alone for now. He focused on his own food, something that was much easier to look at and to get down, and tried not to feel guilty about the fact that he was given special privileges. He had earned it in a way, if being stuck in this place for weeks on end counted as such.

Though eventually the stranger decided that he was in the mood for a conversation -- or to ask a question, at least. It was hard to tell if the guy was being sarcastic because the stuff hardly counted as food or if he honestly didn't know. And if he didn't, what might that imply about him? Not that Guy had really seen anything edible like this back home, but...

He sighed, feeling some sympathy for the other man. "It's... well, I guess you can call it food. It's got all the vitamins and nutrients that you need to stay healthy, but there's no attempt made for good flavoring." Which kind of bothered him, as someone who appreciated good cooking, but that was neither here nor there. "I guess the military thinks it's the most efficient way to feed us." Or, well, to feed the majority of the patients, anyway. Guy glanced down at his french toast and let out a sigh.