There continues to be no evidence of sewing magic as Tom explains the use of a toothbrush and proffers a set of loaner pajamas. A dog at one point walks into the room, a sleepy old shepherd.

"I... think... that what I'm already wearing is pajamas.  How can I get regular clothes?"  Weird dog.  "Or, where?  If everything's free?"

"Are they? I didn't recognize the style. There's a clothes store in town, you can pick a style and say what colors you want it in and they'll stitch it up for you."

"I could be wrong...  Does this include shoes?"

"The pajamas? I can get you slippers but it's September so I didn't expect you to get cold feet."

"At the clothes store."

"Oh, yes, you can get shoes there too."

He nods, then points towards the violin.  "What's that?"

"It's a musical instrument." He goes over and picks it up and plays a little arpeggio.

Ooh.  "Oohhhh."

"Vocalists get cranky about most of the lyrics being censored but for every other kind of musician it's - well, not unmixed, but there's all the time in the world." Little lick of melody.

"Most lyrics?  ...Or can you not say.  What they were about."

"I can say them, in little snatches, what you don't want is for them to get stuck in your head so you start singing them or reciting the poems without realizing you're doing it. But there were a lot of songs about a lot of things, before. I'd hope Tintown's keeping the culture alive while we keep the species alive but I think they don't have enough slack to do it systematically."

Yet.  "Oh.  I... don't think I know any songs, or poems."

"The library basement's got some." He plays a few more notes. "Anything else you need for right now? You hungry or anything?"

"Kinda hungry, yeah.  And thirsty?"

Violin goes back on its stand and Tom shows him to the kitchen. There's a water dispenser in the fridge, he fills a glass from it and offers it up. Then he looks at the state of his leftovers. "I've got chicken, I've got potato soup. I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich, there's bread left from this morning, or a ham sandwich. Ratatouille but not really a whole meal's worth."

Gulp gulp.  "Potato soup sounds nice."

"You want it warmed up or cold?"

"How long does it take to warm it up?"

"Minute in the microwave." He puts some in a bowl and plops an upside down plate on top and sticks it into the microwave. "We had to argue with them for a while about these but we won the argument, if you want to call it that."

"Huh..."  John (and, to be honest, Jensi) stares at the spinning bowl.

And then it's out, the lid-plate goes in the dishwasher, and John is presented with the bowl and a spoon.

And warm??  "Thanks."

"No problem. Do you know how to cook?"