Intergalactic Prison

I was really in rougher shape than I had thought; it was totally disgusting! Luckily, there was one of those foofy loofahs that came from plants or seaweed or whatever. I scrubbed and scrubbed until I there wasn't any dead skin left, only pink, healthy stuff. I seriously needed one of Jules' facial treatments after this, the moisturizing, stinky, dark green ones, yuck!

After my shower, I poked around until I found a razor, shaving cream, and a toothbrush with toothpaste. I was way hairier than I'd been in years, and I needed a haircut. I wished I had something to take a snapshot with before I shaved, Jules and the guys would be floored, I almost had a real beard! Though that begged the question as to what the fuck had happened. I tried not to think too much about it and just stay focused, though, for the time being.

I felt a lot better after I finished cleaning up, more like myself. It was warm in the room, so I was glad I found some manly-scented anti-perspirant. I just couldn't abide by smelling heavily floral, even if it was only around one other person.

Ugh. Who happened to be a pretty woman. That, furthermore, saw me looking bedraggled, in nothing but my damned underwear! My ego was somewhat bruised, that I had apparently looked so bad she had thought I was actually dead. Hopefully Jules wouldn't be pissed about the undies-viewing. I doubted it, it wasn’t like it was intentional, and we had both screamed our heads off.

"There is clothing available in the dresser, Andy." I grunted, then made my way to the drawers.

What I found made the little hairs on the back of my neck prickle a little bit. They had either stolen a lot of my stage clothes from Earth, or replicated them down to a T. When I found some things I knew didn't exist anymore, because I'd ruined them, and a few I'd sold, I got a little jittery.

These were from all throughout my career. In a top drawer, a massive number of rosaries, gloves, rings, and other jewelry. In another, my white, black flag shirt, mixed in with other shirts, all folded neatly. I found a couple prophet jackets. I looked at a pair of spandex pants with an arrow drawn on them, one of a few, neatly folded in a bottom drawer by some American football pants, and it was too much. I sat down on the bed with a thump, in nothing but a towel, trying to stay calm.

My mind was racing too fast to think constructively, but I couldn't slow it. I just couldn't slow it down. I was, for the first time, just a little bit frightened. What the fuck was going on? Was I dead?

Notes

What do you think? Is Andy dead?