"I guess it's an acquired taste," he admits, of Creekside. "It's kind of a pain getting to work, but it's good for hangovers." The quiet area and easy access to all these little shops and markets, he means. There's breathing room, which he sometimes desperately needs - he keeps wondering when it's going to ease up, when he's going to fully relax after the horror of being trapped in the arrival room, or fix the turmoil in whatever metaphysical center of him is off-balance now. Maybe it's not going to happen.

"-Can I get you anything else, by the way?" He's already raising a hand, lazy, to get the bar tender's attention, having drained the drink he was working on by now.