The commute to the hospital took about an hour. He got mixed reactions to this. Some made it sound like it was the worst thing in the world. A great way to waste a large part of his life. Others said it wasn't so bad. A few said it was a good way to relax and have time to think.

Johnny knew how he felt. But it wasn't something he thought about. He just made the drive. The only time he did think about it was when other people brought it up. The series of questions that would lead to the discussion was always predictable. They'd first begin by asking where he lived, if he was at the hospital. If he was back at home it would start with what he did for work.

He kept his beard. Thank god, he thought, that he wasn't an adult during his dad's generation. He had so many memories of watching his dad lather on shaving cream and then using a steel double edged safety razor to make his face smooth. Sometimes when Johnny would wake up earlier than his dad, he'd go to him and touch his cheek and chin. The stubble felt funny to him. Prickly and foreign.