Alex’s apartment is, if it were emptied of everything, identical to Kierk’s. The same shape and structure, the same eggshell white paint, the same crisscross of small bars across the windows to suicide-proof them, subsidized by NYU just like his. But Kierk, now being given a mini-tour of it by Alex, is struck by how incredibly different the two apartments are. Here there are art prints on the wall. A black-and-white minimalistic color scheme. The kitchen is well stocked with what looks like a full set of porcelain matching cookware, as well as stainless steel cutlery hanging on magnetic strips and an array of wineglasses and champagne flutes. The living room has a giant liquid television screen hung up on the wall, trailing cords behind it like a peripheral nervous system, with multiple of the latest console gaming systems hooked up at the bottom. In the middle is a large black leather couch that looks like the plastic was just taken off. Kierk doesn’t say anything but feels the casual parental wealth of it all, seeing the multiple Apple gadgets and how even this technological plenitude stays a kind of chic minimalism. The whole apartment feels like a user interface.

“How’s Carmen?” Alex asks from the kitchen counter. “That whole incident gives me the creeps.”

“She’s okay. Driving upstate to stay with her mom tonight.”

Kierk lingers over the bookshelf, looking at Alex’s collection, which is mostly left-wing political stuff and some history.

“I do a lot of my reading on the internet,” Alex says preemptively, as Kierk looks it over. He continues to pull out titles as Alex says—“I also have beer.”

“Thanks for inviting me over.”

“Hey, did I tell you I was switching to take over Atif’s old position?”

“You’re doing primate research now?”

“Yeah. I always wanted to get away from neurons in dishes. Real intact networks. Lowering the recording needle down into macaque brains is pretty crazy. And Melissa’s lab is cool, she’s super nice, and there’s obviously an opening for a postdoc due to Atif.”

“And how is it?”

“Actually I really like it. It’s fascinating. As you’re lowering down the needle into the brain you hook it up to speakers so you can hear aloud the pop-pop as it passes individual neurons. Like little firecrackers of sound. Sometimes we hear radio signals when we lower down the electrode. Classical music or pop songs. Sometimes I think I can hear phone conversations. Like voices from another room that you can’t quite make out. But that can’t be right. I mean, that’s not even physically possible.”

“Mmm,” Kierk says, taking a swig from the beer he’s just been handed.

“So I was presumptive and packed a bowl, if you’d like some.”