It just pissed me right off."So fucking what," I shouted at the woman and her companions as bluntly as I could. My voice rose sharply and it was fille... with anger and it was startling to hear ringing through the great hall. It made the woman and her companions jump."Do you really expect me to care," I continued forcefully, "whether your networks get a piece of me for your air time? I don't think so."Amazingly the woman didn't cave in right then and there. Instead she rallied herself and did her. Once the foam set, it looked enough like skin from a distance. I didn't have much hair on my body so that was not a problem.I had been letting my hair grow long since the disease had struck. There were no barbers any more and I obviously could not go to a unisex barbershop. There were volunteers here, but I was happy the way I was. There was no man telling me I didn't look right.My power had gotten much stronger or I had learned how to use it better, I am not sure which. I did not use it to. ’ And so then you let go. You felt yourself falling. Deep. So deep. But I was there all around you and through you. You sighed and kissed my mouth. You shuddered. It was as if you were lit from inside. You felt me lift you. You were sitting on my lap with your legs around me, my legs under you. So intimate. And everything melted away. You held me. I held you. That’s all there was. Just us. You had the sense that you were home. You thrilled. You rested in my embrace for – minutes, for – for how. But there's nothing to sleep on except a few pieces of couch." And don't do what the Target Head did," added Stern. He mentioned, in his nonchalant style, that a temporary resident almost electrocuted himself on a live wire hanging near the concrete basement wall. The kid was one of the rootless wanderers that Stern had met at The Spandau. The part-time artist had immediately chosen the name 'Target Head' for him, since the kid had shaved one side of his head and painted orange concentric.