Once the elevator reached it's destination, Stan stepped out, got to his lamborghini, drove to the gym, and pushed through a forty-minute circuit that left his muscles pleasantly spent and his mind clear.
His bandaged hand limited what he could do with weights, so he redirected the session toward bodyweight work and cardio, pull-ups, dips, a long run on the treadmill that ended with him standing at the machine's console, breathing hard, sweat soaking through his shirt, feeling more awake than he had in days.
He showered at the gym, changed, and drove to campus.
The Lamborghini caused exactly the kind of disruption he'd expected.
He pulled into the campus parking area and stepped out, and the reaction spread outward like a stone dropped in still water, heads turning, conversations pausing, phones rising.
