Rex Larson woke up that morning, knowing he would climb into bed that night nearly 10 years older.
He felt a fearful apprehension about what he was planning to do. A nervous tension had begun gnawing in his gut the previous night, and none of it had dissipated after six hours of restless sleep in an unfamiliar bed. In fact, he was even more taut now, with the prospect of their impending trip to the age clinic. This would be the last morning he would eat his breakfast as a man in his 30s. (Or maybe that was yesterday; he wasn't sure he was hungry enough to stomach anything this morning.)
He gazed at his wife in the dim morning light that seeped through the heavy hotel curtain. She was still sleeping blissfully. Was she wearing a contented smile, even in her sleep? It sure looked that way, but maybe that was just his imagination.
He sat up for a minute or so, and then quietly got out of bed. He walked an absent-minded circle around the hotel room, and then glanced at the digital clock by the bed. "Just a few minutes after 6 o'clock," he thought to himself. "What now?" He didn't want to disturb his wife, and he wasn't interested in any breakfast. Groggily, he padded into the bathroom for a long and thoughtful shower.
The water was luxuriously hot, in stark contrast to the miniature bar of soap provided by the hotel. Rex didn't like using hotel soaps; he preferred the feel of a heavier bar in his hand. In fact, he usually brought his own soap while traveling, but forgot to pack it this time. "A lot on my mind, I guess," he mumbled to himself, as he unwrapped the small bar of soap.