Jonathan Edgar gave up his phone and his vision came back, not all at once or as good as he had at age five, but maybe as good as when he was forty. He had no records so that was a judgement call. But within days his eyes didn’t burn. Within weeks the age spots on the back of his hands weren’t as blurry. He could see where he needed to pluck around his ears without glasses on.

A month in he didn’t feel like arguing with the hall troll, who shuffled around looking for someone to talk to, not with. Instead he set up a chess board in the game room, and after an hour alone with his own thoughts he played himself, marveled that more than his thumbs worked, which struck him as odd, as more than his thumbs always worked. But it was noticeable.

The doctor arrived three months after the conversion, but not a house doctor. This one was too young to be as stern as he looked, black rimmed glasses and ironed white shirt. Even as a professional he was out of place here and anywhere for the last fifty years. He found Jonathan Edgar in the game room, and he sat up too straight to be comfortable.

“May I ask you questions?”

“It’s your dime.”

Both stopped. Where’d that phrase come from? Jonathan Edgar had to recollect and his mind went back and back and settled on hearing it in the womb.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We like to keep tabs on our clientele and word is is that you’ve become somewhat withdrawn. Maybe depressed?”

“Not at all. I would say, maybe quite the opposite.”

“Are you still in contact with your children? Child? I see you have only one child.”

The man didn’t see anything. Hadn’t even looked at his tablet, which meant programming. He felt cheated. He also sat amazed.

“I am. I mean, I don’t bother her anymore, but my phone is plugged in and I’ll tap it every morning to see if there’s a message. She’s busy, I’m sure. She has her life.”

“And current events? You’ve lost interest in the goings on of our world? You’re not following sports, politics, entertainers, not leaving wisdom, and there are ads custom made for you. You’re not seeing them.”

“Right. No interest, but not because I’m depressed. One morning I asked myself if anything changed, after all these years? The entertainment? The outrages? No. I’m bored with it.”

The doctor stared ahead as if thinking deep thoughts, too long, and he wondered if the doctor had glitched. No.

“Sir, I believe that we’re ready for a change of scenery, for you to be … somewhere else. We’ll remove you in a few days time, to another location. It will be better suitable for people of your condition.”

Jonathan Edgar nodded. Three months had passed and he expected release.

“I understand.”

Jonathan Edgar started cleaning his room the morning of and it didn’t take long. The room shined in an unfamiliar way, but looked no different. All that he owned sat in a duffel at his feet. He felt bad, as there was nothing to leave his child, or grand children. All of him, his pictures, his music, his memories were on his phone, and no one needed his phone.

In the hall the stern doctor waited. But before him, the room. He stood satisfied with it, but at the same time he stood with his head tilted, confused. The room looked clean and new and shiny, as if he’d never lived there.