His flight to Tiresias isn’t until morning and he’s looking forward to spending the night with her—sans Josué this time.He’s excited about the trip, bubbling over with energy. So much so that on the ride home from San Jose International he springs for a dozen red roses at a florist outlet in the pod, preparing for a night of amor.But nothing clicks. Everything is a little out of sorts, including himself and Varda. Downtown smells wrong. The dusty-olive smell of circuitrees and the roasted-almond scent of umbrella palms no longer put him at ease. Used to be, he’d pod home after a day in the vats and the tension would evaporate in no time. Now it’s as if he’s come back to a different world. He can even taste stuff through his fingertips: apricots when he accidentally bumps into an upper-clade turista; mangoes when he takes a chance and steps into an expensive antique shop that’s always been off limits, just to spec how much the reclading has changed him. In the shop, he’s persona grata.
