The next morning Roger woke up in his own bed for the first time in months. He sat up, staring at the patches of dried spackle. It felt nice to not wake up shivering in the snow or spitting out sand. He could go back to work at the call center. Or find a job that didn't suck (though in this economy…).
He could stay put at home… his dingy, dilapidated closet of an apartment with mouse droppings and a spatial anomaly. At least he'd stop waking up in random countries, surprised by each new destination. He could stay in one place, returning to a normal, predictable life…
Roger grabbed a tack from his desk and stuck it into the wall.
