Gunnar's downtown apartment

Gunnar shut the door to his dowtown apartment behind him by slumping against it, not so much out of fatigue as relief. He felt thankful to Margaret Shorthouse's TV station for giving him the gift of a new suit tailored to his new largesse, though he knew he would have to immediately seek a complete wardrobe. For now, though, it was enough to be free from the hospital, from scientists and journalists, to be back in the real world. Also, he dearly hoped, the dreams of the voice would stay behind him.

Gunnar wandered to a window and looked out. It was a fairly typical city, dogged provincial optimism struggling in the shadow of better days decades past. Several blocks uptown was an excellent area for groceries and dining, and there were no movie houses to speak of -- ahh, but there was his favorite strip club, one of the key (and slightly secret) reasons he had dared to live downtown in the first place.

Still, for all this, he felt more alone than ever. He'd moved here only a few months before, the RAIP or "second puberty" rather inconvenient in its timing. He felt the need to doublecheck that there was still a place open for him at work. His family gone, his ex-girlfriend a sad memory, with no friends within visiting range save for the Internet, he felt more than just physically rejuvenated. It felt like he was starting life all over again, starkly alone, and though that brought panic, he also felt exhilarated.