Lobby, 12:15 AM
Rick sat on one of the curving cushions at the border of the lobby. His fiery hair was slick and dark, and his clothes had the loose straight lines of being recently donned. Unlike his previous appearances--and disappearances, Christ--he wore both socks and shoes (low white running shoes), and he had on a look of profound concentration. The previous twenty-four hours were crystal clear in his mind, and yet it was so obviously not quite his own mind that it was like seeing everything through a round crystal that distorted not only the image, but the entire experience. He was taken by the strong need for a drink, and for exactly that reason, he wasn't having one.