[Something tells him to go with it, and he does. Virgil has never been a very 'zen' person, or whatever is meant by "thinking of yourself". He can try, though, and just thinks about his shop and how he'd probably rather be there.

When the door opens, its rather like home. An unkempt bed, a work desk, a bookshelf, its about like a one-room apartment that's poorly cared for and poorly decorated. The younger man raised his eyebrows at Stan and shrugged, entering.]