When I told Sophie I was moving, she started to cry. Her lipstick smeared. Then she composed herself and said, “You will always be a part of me. All I ask is that you don’t remain a secret to yourself. Also, simple tech does exist that would let us continue seeing each other. If you want that.”

I cried for everything that had passed between us, and for the necessity of crying as a man. I told her I needed to recollect myself in a new clime and then I’d reach out.

The landlord came over to inspect the building and told us we were not getting our deposit back. The Witch’s potions had formed a thick layer of oil over all the surfaces in the apartment. The building would be gut renovated, but we were being penalized for our negligence in maintaining proper hygiene. After I got off the phone with the landlord, I went into the kitchen and threw one of the Witch’s potion jars against the wall. I was terrified of leaving the den I had dug myself into. Once I’d calmed down, I prayed that the Witch would not use her power against me.

I said goodbye to all my dogs and gave them each a sustainably collected animal tusk. Buford pranced around the apartment with his tusk in his mouth, farting.

Jillian came over to help me finally donate an old box of “women’s” clothes. As she sat on my bed, holding up clothes that no longer fit me, we played music from our high school days and danced around in my bedroom, kicking tape guns and rocking out on a floor that would soon be destroyed.

“I hope you can find the bright future I know you have,” she said at my door, gently implying that this future had not arrived in the city of wealth and angst.

Minna and I took a yoga class together, and afterward she told me she could sense the shift in my aura. We said we would video each other and keep up our TV dates from across the coasts. She was going to come to L.A. during her summer break. I could not promise I would return to New York anytime soon.

“Even with my hundred-day meditation streak,” I added.

Margot was neutral about my decision. “But you need to think about getting a real job, Pen, no matter where you choose to live,” she said.

Blithe and I completed our regional exit interviews with the well-bearded Operatrix, who interpreted my light purple Bio-meter reading as “geographical optimism.” Blithe was stuck in a gray-streaked green.

I tried to ask the Operatrix if he’d interviewed Aiden as well. I wanted to know if Aiden’s Bio-meter showed any hints of fermenting-grape repression or lemon-colored deep satisfaction.