Jack had only been on the Greyhound for a few hours, but it felt like it had been days. Some Organ based dirge had been playing on reverse in his head the entire ride, as cars and houses shuffled by his window. It was now early evening. The sun was finally starting to find it’s hiding place along the skyline.
He stepped off of the bus in front of what must be The Sacramento Convention Center. It wasn’t an unattractive building, but it wasn’t exactly inviting either. It was cold out, but not so bad you had to shiver. A few vagrants were finding shelter from the oncoming night under the Center's high overhang; they didn't seem to notice the tall strangeling. No one to welcome him, no one to announce his presence. He had the address for the studio he had rented, and a few cell phone numbers in his pocket.
So, this is home?