Unable to stop himself (although, deep down, he knew this was what he had to do), he walked through the neighborhood, seemingly aimlessly. But part of him insisted that it wasn't aimless. He knew exactly where he was going. He wished that part would tell him.
After about two minutes of walking, his feet took him to a house. He opened the door and walked in. He had never been in this house before.
He walked up the stairs. And after opening one of the bedroom doors, he saw a bedroom very unlike his. His room, people had joked, would have been condemned by the board of health. This room was the opposite. Extremely neat and organized. Spotless.
There was a single shelf full of books. No science-fiction or fantasy. It was limited to schoolbooks and religious texts. There was a computer and printer, but it didn't seem very advanced. More the type used for word processing and homework, not for gaming.
He opened the door to the closet. The clothes inside were sorted by color. He laid out an outfit on the bed, went to the dresser, and laid out the rest of the outfit.
Then he stripped off his sweats, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and started to slip into the clothes on the bed.
