The kid grinned. "Because there's got to be a way to do something cool without moving to New York. I like it around here. Don't want to live in some run-down defaulted shit-built condo where the mice are hunchbacked. Like the wide-open spaces. But I don't want to be a farmer or an academic or run a student bar. All that stuff is a dead-end, I can see it from here. I mean, who drinks beer anymore? There's much sweeter highs out there in the real world." Perry looked at his beer. It was in a themed stein with Germano-Gothic gingerbread worked into the finish. It felt like it had been printed from some kind of ceramic/epoxy hybrid. You could get them at traveling carny midways, too. "I like beer," he said. "But you're --" The kid broke off. "Old," Perry said. "'Sok. You're what, 16?" "21," the kid said. "I'm a late bloomer. Devoting resources to more important things than puberty." Two more kids slid into their booth, a boy and a girl who actually did look 21. "Hey Luke," the girl said, kissing him on the cheek. Luke, that was his name. Perry came up with a mnemonic so he wouldn't forget it again -- Nebraska baby-faced farm boy, that was like Luke Skywalker. He pictured the kid swinging a lightsaber and knew he'd keep the name for good now. "This is Perry Gibbons," Luke said. "Perry, this is Hilda and Ernie. Guys, Perry's the guy who built the ride I was telling you about." Ernie shook his hand. "Man, that's the coolest shit I've ever seen, wow. What the hell are you doing here? I love that stuff. Wow." Hilda flicked his ear. "Stop drooling, fanboy," she said. Ernie rubbed his ear. Perry nodded uncertainly. "Sorry. It's just -- well, I'm a big fan is all." "That's really nice of you," Perry said. He'd met a couple people in Boston and San Francisco who called themselves his fans, and he hadn't known what to say to them, either. Back in the New Work days he'd meet reporters who called themselves fans, but that was just blowing smoke. Now he was meeting people who seemed to really mean it. Not many, thank God. "He's just like a puppy," Hilda said, pinching Ernie's cheek. "All enthusiasm." Ernie rubbed his cheek. Luke reached out abruptly and tousled both of their hair. "These two are going to help me build the ride," he said. "Hilda's an amazing fundraiser. Last year she ran the fundraising for a whole walk-in clinic." "Women's health clinic or something?" Perry asked. He was starting to sober up a little. Hilda was one of those incredible, pneumatic midwestern girls that he'd seen at five minute intervals since getting off his flight in Madison. He didn't think he'd ever met one like her. "No," Hilda said. "Metabolic health. Lots of people get the fatkins treatment at puberty, either because their fatkins parents talk them into it or because they hate their baby fat." Perry shook his head. "Come again?"