Wow. That really fucking hurt, Everett thought while rubbing at the back of his neck. Feeling along the four subcutaneous bumps where his new implants had just been embedded, Everett wondered why it had taken him so long to get the procedure done.
It was a common trend now, but when they were first introduced, they were met with no small amount of protest. Initially created for military use, they soon became commercially available, with their primary use being for virtual gaming.
Everett, for his part, avoided it like the plague. He wasn’t that thrilled about the one he currently had, but his fiancé had given him a pretty compelling argument that he felt he couldn’t pass up. And so, here he was, buying the game he intended to use it for.
He made sure to grab his copy as he made his way down the clinically sterilized white corridors of the TerraServer building. Crossing the lobby, Everett turned his gaze from the equally all white art deco tiling and holo-panels towards the enormous skylight that spanned the entire lobby. The sky was rapidly turning into night, and Everett was glad to see the full moon shining bright as ever.
His moon gazing, however, was marred by the rapidly forming itch that formed around his implant. By the time he reached the counter, it had become a small form of torture, like no matter how many times he scratched it, it refused to go away. He tried to ignore it in vain pulling up his phone app, In-Grid, to look for listings of local street races. The incessant itching, however, quickly became his entire world.
“Nice! Infinity Paradox. Me and my brother were planning to go on a binger tomorrow morning,” the cashier said excitedly. Everett nodded, not really trying to get into small talk. If the cashier minded, he didn’t show it. He added in the medical bill and peripherals into Everett’s cart, while he kept trying to find races and feverishly scratching at his neck. “Alright, with your insurance and discount, that’ll be $957.77, sir,” the cashier said once he was finished.
Everett nodded, pressing his thumb down on the scanner to transfer the funds.
“Yo, I’m surprised they didn’t give you any… It’s the implants, right?” the cashier said, indicating the spot behind Everett’s ear. Everett confirmed and the cashier nodded in understanding.
“Yeah, thought so. Here,” the cashier said, handing over a salve. Everett nodded again graciously, anxiously twisting the cap before applying it directly to his neck and rubbing it in. The burning cool sensation alleviated the itching almost immediately bringing with it an audible sigh of relief.
“Oh, fuck yes. Thank you,” Everett said, relishing the blessed relief. He rubbed the back of his ear again, feeling how tender the base of his skull had become in such a short amount of time.
“No problem, man,” the cashier started, “Same thing happened to me. Still itches every now and again, but it’s worth it. Complete game changer… literally.”
“Yeah, my fiancé never hesitates to remind me. In fact, that’s why I even got it done.”
“Ah. Sounds like your girl knows what’s up. Maybe I’ll catch you on the other side.”
“Yeah. It’s possible.”
“You uh, do you know what you’re planning to play as?”
“A good old-fashioned elf, most likely. They’ve always been my go-to. Leaning heavily towards Civilian class, for the crafting.”
“Ah, sweet. But don’t let anybody fool ya. Civvies can throw down so long as they’re properly fitted. Which isn’t hard when they can quite literally tailor make all of their own gear.”
“Yeah, my fiancé is a civ too. I think she’s got a whole starter package built for me already.”
“Vaht, coming straight off the block with a hook up. Now that’s sweet. Which Sphere did she start in?”
“Uh, Honor, I think.”
“Oh, that’s where that one fraternity is. The merc group, the uh, Fallen Reapers, I think.”
“Oh? They cool?”
“Depends on who you talk to. I don’t got much of a problem with them. Someone comes acting a fool, and they swoop in and give ‘em the same knock they gave to the person they messed with. Kind of like avenging angels.”
“Huh. Not sure my fiancé would view them like that.”
“No skat? Your fiancé not big on pvp? Who’s she in game?”
“Oh, she has no problem with it. She goes by Heaven.”
At the mention of his fiancé’s name, the cashier went white as a sheet.
“Your. Your- y-your fiancé is the valkyrie?”
“Uh. I guess? We never really talked to in-depth about what she did in-game. It’s part of why I’m buying it now. To figure it out.”
“Bro, she’s a legend. You have to tell her thank you for me. She and her crew got me and my brother out of some deep skat during the calamity six months back, but they were gone before I got the chance to thank her. Can you let her know she really saved my auhs? Name’s Wash on the other side.”
“Uh. Alright, I’ll do that. Thanks again for the salve, and hopefully we’ll bump into each other.”
“Hey, no problem. Who should I look for when you come over?”
“Ma’Hiz. Ma’Hiz Vi’Olorun.”
With a wave, Everett bid the cashier farewell and left the complex. Standing at just under six feet tall, Everett wasn’t breaking any height records. His mixed half Black, half Asian heritage saw to that. He didn’t particularly give a lot of thought to the stereotype of all Asians being short, but his mother was barely five two, so whether it mattered or not, he fit the description.
As Everett left the building, he called his vehicle to come pick him up. By the time that he reached the edge of the sidewalk, his 2062 Viper pulled up with the trunk raised and the front door slightly ajar. Everett sometimes felt like a douche for purchasing the 2900 horsepower behemoth, but he loved them ever since he was a kid, and nearly cried when they were discontinued for over four decades. He was only a kid when they announced a special limited-edition run in commemoration for the series, and by the time he reached adulthood and could afford it, he couldn’t pass up the chance to sate this long-time desire.
The jade green, all-wheel drive, fusion engine, was a custom job from top to bottom. From its vented hood to graphene panelling, the car was as durable as it was fast. It sported high-performance racing tires over damascus forged custom black rims with a honeycomb gel matrix on the inside so they would never go flat. The logo of his streaming site was painted onto the hood; a mechanized robot holding a gun and a spear.
The reverse butterfly, driver side door opened further once he approached. Most of the vehicles of the day were now self-driving; a feature he often took advantage of for moments like now. Once he loaded the game and groceries into the trunk, Everett climbed into the driver’s seat as the car scanned his biometric data on entry before closing the door. Touching his finger to the central touch screen, he confirmed his destination before the car eased onto the road, and he was off.
While not an Indiana native, Everett lived there practically his entire life. He visited quite a few places around the world when he got his check – an $800,000 one-time dividend intended to allow all newly minted adults to establish their independence – he tried to soak up all the experiences he could. He tried to avoid many of the heavy tourist spots, attempting to settle into many of the surrounding cities in an effort to broaden his experiences and getting to know its citizens while he was there. He found it particularly difficult not to leave New Zealand. The view of the night sky in the middle of the countryside called to him in a way he couldn’t put into words.
When Everett finally came back, he found he didn’t have much to complain about. Indianapolis began to really lean into its long pedigree in racing and made drastic changes to the city to make racing its primary attraction. A pastime of which Everett was no stranger.
As he sped along, Everett started checking the local rosters again to see if there were any good races he could join. He started with the local tracks and found a few, but none of the registered drivers really called out to him. It was becoming apparent why he had been out of the game for the past few weeks. With a sigh, he tapped the console and said, “In-Grid, call Alma.”
One moment please, a synthesized female voice responded. In-Grid was an app that nearly all racers had. It handled masking their contacts and obscuring the official site of illegal races. Ironically, it also handled the legal ones too. After a moment, there was a melody of bells that followed. The ring back looped several times until it stopped abruptly, followed by the chipper voice of a young woman, “Sup Everett. Little early to be looking for a race, aren’t ya? It’s been like what, three weeks?”
Everett puckered at that like he just ate a lemon. Looking at the clock, it was a little past nine, which he had to admit was pretty early for him. He groaned, but responded back, “Well, you’re not wrong. I should technically be headed home. Lena’s already back, and we got plans tonight. Know anyone up for a quick race down 465?”
“If it’s you, shouldn’t be hard,” Alma started, then groaned audibly, “Wait, I forgot. It’s you. It’ll definitely be hard. What’s the bet anyway?”
“Bragging rights obviously,” Everett laughed.
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“I’m pointing finger guns at ya,” he laughed, “but nah, I guess a parts race. My second favorite. You know the one?”
There was a pause. “Wait. Fat Cat? And you’re corny by the way.”
“That would be the one. And thank you kindly”
Alma was quiet after that. Everett just assumed she was looking for a challenger and waited patiently.
“Yeah, ok, fuck that. If you’re giving up Fat Cat, I’ll race you myself,” Alma blurted.
Simply put, Fat Cat was a miniaturized tandem v12 fusion engine Everett created. Each engine supplied power to the front and back tires independently and the extra modifications helped push him well into the 2000 horsepower range.
The proliferation of self-driving fusion vehicles had changed engine technology by several degrees. For a street racer, the possibilities grew exponentially. These new possibilities were part of the reason that the iconic quarter mile drag race all but died out. Hitting top speeds of over 480 kpm was now child’s play. Most races were now a standard lap around a full track, which had also been modified with steeper angles so the cars could maintain their speed around the narrow turns.
The standard go-to for many was at the infamous Motor Speedway. In addition to the annual Indy 500 that was still ran the traditional way, racing competitions saw a boom in the amateur racing circuit. For street racers in the off season, and Indianapolis in particular, they used the newly redesigned highway 465 as the staging ground for the ultimate race.
Self-driving vehicles went a long way to making it possible. If a racer wanted to race, they had to submit a ticket. That usually took up to an hour to process, and it had to be done after 9pm. Once approved, a signal was sent to all non-participating vehicles to move into the outside lane, while the rest were partitioned off for the racers until the objective of the race was completed. The only caveat being that all races were halted immediately in the event of an emergency. In those cases, participants either had to re-register or simply call it a night.
“Well, you sure know how to make a man blush,” Everett said with a mock southern twang, “You got something you’re willing to part with?”
“Well if it's Fat Cat, I think it’s only fair I offer Betty.”
Everett let out a low whistle in response. Bouncing Betty was probably one of the smoothest suspensions he knew of. The car rode so smooth, in fact, that if you weren’t looking at the tires, you’d swear the car was floating. However, it wouldn’t be called Bouncing Betty if it didn’t do exactly that. There was a secondary set of pistons compressed so tightly that the car could hop at a moment’s notice. Everett had personally witnessed Alma literally jump the competition before gliding straight to victory. It was an absolute menace in circuit races. It seemed she was looking to add more speed to her ride now.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“You’re serious,” Everett said, choking at the thought of it.
“The one and only!”
“Well son of a bitch, I’m in.”
“Fuck yeah! Linking now.”
“Linking.”
Everett was glad to have a traffic controller as a friend. Having that inside track meant he could have a race at nearly a moment’s notice, though tonight was a pleasant surprise to be able to face the Glide Queen herself. A moment passed while the linking process completed. There was a ping, and Alma responded back, “Ok, all set. We’ll sync up at Mann Rd., and the race will begin once we reach Kentucky. Race type: Trammel. First to Rockville will be declared the winner. That cool with you?”
Everett pulled onto the main road and headed to get on 465 west. He could see buzz already starting to form up, which sent a jolt of excitement through him that he struggled to contain. It’d been a few weeks since his last race, and a part of him worried he might’ve lost a step. Now that he thought about it, why did he bet Fat Cat? He loved Fat Cat! And Alma intentionally chose the obstacle course, knowing he had the advantage. Trammel was essentially a drag race with traps, which he excelled at. What was she playing at?
Everett tried to think of all the reasons why she might’ve chosen this race, but he quickly shoved that aside, thinking of all the things he needed to do to win. As his car made its way down the highway, he fell into his ritual routine, letting his mind wander while he listened to the rhythm of the monotonous beep that synced his car to Alma’s. The two of them would meet shoulder to shoulder once they got to Kentucky. Then after that, it was all hands on deck.
While Everett absently listened to the sound of passing traffic, he went over his options. Indiana had a history of its highway being in a perpetual state of repair. The completion of the hyperloop led to a new magnetic rail being installed into the highways to regulate self-driving vehicles. The need to regulate all self-driving vehicles was more than enough reason to give the old highway a complete overhaul. They became more modular to take on the constantly shifting traffic, which greatly increased the efficiency of traffic flow. This meant at any given moment, any section of the highway could shift to let traffic in or out.
As if on cue, Alma’s 2055 Nissan GT-R slid in next to him. The road lights changed to yellow which signaled the rest of the cars in the path to switch over to the outside lane. Their speed slowed significantly as they came up on the starting point. “Ready to lose that sweet, sweet engine,” Alma teased.
Everett looked up in time to see the visible shift in Alma’s ride. Her gold and black pearlescent paint pulsed to a tune Everett couldn’t make out. The underbody pulsed with a black light that matched the trim that ran across the entire frame. Everett watched the suspension visibly rise about six inches, as the tires began to expand. When the tires reached their full width, the suspension settled into their new height. The wheel wells also expanded to make room. As they did, Everett noticed something new. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Everett gasped.
“Oh, you like that,” Alma laughed, “Figured I’d set the Flux Capacitor to win.” The tires on Alma’s GT-R rotated and began to levitate.
“Are those even stable?” Everett asked, incredulous.
“I don’t know. I know I’m just… glidin’ around.”
“Uh huh. Now I see why you’re willing to part with Betty. Don’t go 'gliding' off the road now.” You know... I don’t have another engine, now that I think about it, Everett suddenly realized.
Race will commence in 30 seconds.
In-Grid’s voice cut through their conversation. Everett looked up to see the half mile marker to Kentucky. Too late to regret it now, he thought to himself. “Hope you didn’t get too rusty, ‘cause I’m about to dust ya son,” Alma mocked, dropping her voice a couple of octaves.
Everett laughed, thumbing the clutch, “Oh there’s going to be dust alright,” he muttered to himself, “You’re not the only one who’s been busy.”
Race type: Trammel. Krow vs Glide Queen. T minus 10, 9, 8, 7…
As In-Grid started to countdown, Everett quickly tapped his console, opening the air intake of the twin engines.
5, 4, 3…
Everett chanced one last look at Alma who was looking ahead greedily as if she could taste her victory already. There were a number of cars lined up already on the side of the road, honking and cheering. In that same instant, he flipped a lever behind the steering wheel trying to hide a smirk of his own, as the lights ahead quickly flashed from red to yellow and whispered, “Green. Means. Go.”
1… Begin.
The yellow lights that lined the side of the road flipped green, restoring manual control. Everett’s foot instantly slammed to the floor. His tires screeched momentarily, slamming him back into his seat. The Viper’s tandem engines roared in response as air was quickly slammed through the front intake. Rounding the bend where 465 west turned into north, Alma’s GT-R sailed smoothly in front, showing little signs of drift. The ground lights continued to thump to whatever she was listening to.
As soon as they rounded into the straightaway, Everett opened the air intake all the way. They were well over a hundred kilometers per hour at that point as the rpm’s steadily crept toward 22,000. Seeing Alma continue to edge forward, floating ahead, Everett silently nodded in respect. Her magnetic propulsion was working far better than he imagined, though he was curious just how stable it was driving unguided at high speeds.
He flipped another switch. Activate Cocytus? Yes/No, In-Grid’s voice called through the speaker. Everett let out a mischievous smile. Cocytus had a similar function to Alma’s Bouncing Betty in that it was a control program that acted semi-independently of the driver.
For him, it was the ultimate control. He could drive to his heart’s content, and Cocytus would just roll with it, correcting any human error. It was his ideal version of the man/machine interface.
“Yes,” Everett vocalized. He let out an almost sinister laugh. The ramjets were starting to reach full burn, bringing Fat Cat to its final phase. The junction for 70 and Sam Jones passed by in a blur.
Several bollards had sprung up where the trammel began in earnest. He was on the Glide Queen shortly after. She was already pushing 270 kilometers per hour when she happened on the first post but didn’t seem to be showing any signs of slowing down.
Two sixty-five and climbing, his speedometer read. He watched as the Glide Queen easily swerved around the first, careening towards the next before suddenly spinning away in the opposite direction. She looked like a bumper car in a pinball machine as she bounced from one post to the next.
Everett responded in kind, easily dodging the first and then the second. His rear tires responded to the front, turning in tandem allowing him to simply slide left and right so that he always faced forward. Another post popped up, just as he cleared the second. Cocytus painted a vague line in the road for him to follow, having already predicted the upcoming bollard. With a tap of the clutch, Everett took manual control of the rear tires and swung them outwards in the new direction he intended to follow. His Viper responded, bringing him sideways momentarily before fishtailing around the next bollard and coming back into a straight line. Everett’s vision was locked on the road, painting his own line, which coincidentally nearly always lined up with Cocytus.
Approaching 296 kilometers per hour, his concentration was momentarily shaken when he found himself side by side with Alma. It was only for a brief moment. She was facing his passenger door, driving completely sideways. He saw the post as it popped up ahead of her. She flashed him a grin and in an instant she was airborne. They’d just passed 10th St., and Everett chose that moment to release Fat Cat to 100%. Alma had just completed a sideways bounce over the post, followed by a second that sent her into a vehicular pirouette, before landing soundlessly ahead of him. For the first time Everett saw the car wobble, costing her a quarter of a second. Everett wasn’t about to let that moment go to waste.
Everett careened towards Alma as close as he dared, weaving from a concertina into a sidewinder before the final breakaway into the last mile. Alma had fallen behind by a mere twenty meters. Everett didn’t dare let his guard down, preparing his final move when he heard the most alien sound he’d ever heard in his life.
Chancing a glance in his rear view, Everett looked up to see a bright glow emanating from behind the floating Nissan. Without a second thought, Everett initiated an over boost, which caused his twin reactors to momentarily shoot over critical. His baby should’ve been able to handle a ten second burn with ease, so it was a surprise to see the Glide Queen slowly gaining on him. She had an honest to god rocket shooting out the back. It was a marvel that the car didn’t flip. But gaining, as she was, it wasn’t going to be enough to overtake him. Still not celebrating, he held his position, hoping he was right. Just as he approached the quarter mile marker, another bollard popped directly in his path.
On instinct, he tapped the brakes, sliding around it with ease, but instantly recognized his mistake. On the one hand, he drove right into Alma’s path, which would’ve secured his victory. But on the other hand, this was the Glide Queen. The momentary drop in speed cut his momentum just enough to watch the wild-eyed traffic controller sail right over him and into victory.
The streetlights momentarily flashed red, and manual control returned back to automatic.
Trammel complete. Winner… Glide Queen
Everett sighed, somewhat aggravated at the last second bollard, and berating himself for not anticipating it. “Well… I guess I owe you an engine,” Everett said solemnly, then continued saying, “Those were some serious upgrades. Like, what the hell woman?”
Alma cackled with glee. “Caught a lucky break racing a couple of idiots with tons of money, but no experience. Thanks to In-Grid, they couldn’t weasel their way out of the loss either, so I’m now the proud owner of a magnetic leveler and this nutty rocket. It was a lucky break that you slowed when you did. I was having a hard time keeping my car from flipping,” she said.
Everett groaned. He only wondered if she’d flipped, but now he knew for certain she was going to, and technically that’s exactly what she did. It also made sense now why she was so eager for his Fat Cat. With a little configuration, she’d have much better overall stability which was basically her motto.
“Maaaaaan,” Everett bemoaned, “At least I know she’ll be in good hands.”
“Damn straight! Though I’ll have a long while before I can configure it to my specifications.”
“Well, if you trust me enough, I’ll help you with the programming. Though in return, you think you’d be up with helping me shop for a new engine?”
“You don’t have another?”
“I never needed one!”
Alma laughed, “Oh man. This is rich. For someone who loves racing and making weapons and machine parts as much as you do, I figured you’d have a spare lying around somewhere. Not even the original?”
“Yeah, I’m not the most reliable person when it comes to foresight. Otherwise I wouldn’t have so casually betted my baby away. And no, not even the original.”
“Good job, genius! But to answer your question, if you don’t mind, I’d love your help. And yeah, I’ll start looking for some new engines for you. Got any preferences?”
“Honestly, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Except this time I think I’ll go for a V20 to mod out. Something from the Camperon series?”
“Will do! And thanks for being such a good sport about it. I’m kind of shaking just thinking about what I’m going to do now. Sean is going to flip when he finds out I actually beat you, let alone winning Fat Cat off you.”
Everett felt a slight pang of guilt at the mention of Sean. Sean was something of a rival, and their matches tended to draw a sizable crowd. Sean was also a pro formula racer and constantly hounded Everett to go pro himself. He knew Sean would take it as a personal affront that he lost to anyone other than him. Something that, up to this point, was true. He was also Alma’s husband. “Do you really have to tell him? Sean’s not going to let me live this down,” Everett lamented.
Alma laughed, but said reassuringly, “I’m not only the wife of a pro racer, but a pro in her own rights. I think he’ll let it slide that your first loss was to the wife he personally trained.”
Everett shook his head, not really sure whether he agreed with her or not. He hit the home button on his GPS and broke off from Alma to go home. He bid Alma a good night and made a quick call to his fiancé. He kind of dreaded how she was going to react to the news.
“Hey, what’s up,” she answered.
Everett sucked in a breath. “So uh, Alma beat me in a race and I lost Fat Cat,” he said. He started counting, expecting her to chew his head off.
“Aww, well I guess that means no vroom vroom for the dumb dumb,” came the mocking retort. And that was all she said. Everett cocked an eyebrow waiting for the follow up. After an uncomfortable couple of seconds, she said, “I’m assuming you’re on your way home to lick your wound then? Dinner’s almost ready, then I’m going to jump in the shower before we get you set up.
“You’re not mad?” Everett asked, feeling somewhat guilty.
“Nah. I mean yeah, I might’ve helped design the engine and solved the airflow leak, but ultimately it was your baby. And I’m sure you’re already mulling over how to one up it, now that it’s gone. So, far be it for me to pitch a fit over it.”
“You know me too well. Yeah, Alma’s going to help me find a new base model, then it’ll be back to the tinker shop.”
“Well, so long as you don’t try to ditch me, I could care less.”
“Fair enough. And to answer your question, yes. I’ll be home in about 10 minutes or so.”
“Aye aye, loser.”
“Rude.”
“Got that ass dusted.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t say that I-”
“Glide Queen became the Fly Queen when she sailed over your ass.”
“Wait. You saw that!?”
“Breaking News: Krow defeated by a yellow post.”
“You’re dead to me.”
“This just in, Krow ain’t getting none tonight either.”
“Ffffff.”
“See you soon,” Lena laughed before hanging up the phone. Everett stared at the disconnected call, trying his best to resist the urge to go off on Alma, whom he was sure streamed the race. But there was no point in crying over it now. It was done. He lost. Probably his first in over three years. He was probably still solidly seated at number two behind Sean, so there was that, at least.
The rest of the ride home went by uneventfully and before long, he was home. The car pulled into the garage of his two-story home and shut itself off.
Everett made his way to the kitchen and found a plate full of cornbread, pot roast and a bottle of hot sauce waiting for him. He silently thanked Lena for the meal as he dug in, idly listening to the sound of the shower upstairs.
It was good to be home.
The epoxy tiles on the floor stayed polished to a mirror image. It was a little too much, to be honest, but this was a sticking point for Lena when it came to cleanliness. He almost felt like he was standing on holy ground, and not even bare feet were good enough for it.
The walnut wood finish of the counters was topped off with a depiction of the Battle of Hoth preserved in epoxy. It spanned the width of the countertop, terminating at the wall. The sink was flush with the countertop but could be depressed with a hand gesture for more traditional cleaning. The dishwasher was directly beneath it.
The island where he sat was guarded by a row of barstools. Lena had a cover on that converted it to a tabletop, but underneath it lay the stove in the center, a dish depository for the pots and pans on the left, and a hidden drawer for the knives and silverware on the right. Directly below the stove, in an even more secret drawer was a shotgun.
The walls were an egg white with hidden lights in the upper portion that spanned the entire room. Black trim separated the walls from the ceiling where three hanging lamps, arranged in a triangle, hung just over the island.
It didn’t take long for Everett to finish his dinner and deposit his dishes. He scurried up the stairs afterwards and put in the flash disk into his tablet to start downloading Infinity Paradox. He thought about looking for parts while he waited for it to download, but instead decided to look at the official forums and read the lore.
A few minutes into his online prowling, his mind began to wander as he found himself replaying the recent race in his head again. It had been so long that he lost, he realized that he might’ve gotten full of himself over the years.
“Behold my visage, for it is the face of humility,” he said. “After three years, I finally lost.”
Looking around his room, he noticed a few trophies from championship’s past. They didn’t seem to hold the same amount of joy as they used to. They represented significant moments of his life, but it seemed like now, more than ever, he was ready for a change.
He turned to look at the giant DIVE unit that sat in the corner of his room. Soon he was going to be entering into a new world. New opportunities, and a chance to rediscover himself and his passion for racing.
Soon.
Everett smiled. Soon, he’d be joined by Lena, immersed in her world, and seeing the place she’d come to view as her second home. He tried to maintain that he wouldn’t experience much other than mindless entertainment, but he couldn’t escape the fact that his excitement was rising. His mind started to wander again, getting so lost in daydreaming of the things to come, he didn’t even realize the shower had stopped.