I had a pretty dark interpretation in mind for this one, involving a room full of frenzied claustrophobes who have killed each other off in an attempt to reach the door. I even wrote a couple of paragraphs in that vein in my usual wit-soaked delivery before hanging the sense of it and resolving to strive for lighter plateaus.
It's difficult to reach any sort of conclusion to this strip because it's such a half-joke. Your brain's humor center still experiences that appreciative tingle, almost as if you were hearing a real joke, but the punchline doesn't quite hit. It's like being stopped before a sneeze.
So I'll just find satisfaction in the usual things, particularly Ziggy's trademark bleak look of quiet desperation. There's really no situation in which Ziggy's body language is inappropriate:
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