[Maine. Well departed from Night City, to be sure, in both distance and time. The way things look right now, surrounded by so much unsullied earth, Johnny figures they might as well be on another planet, much less sitting pretty in a dream. His eyes move from the star-studded sky back down to the green, mountainous terrain pushing up against the horizon, wondering at the reasoning behind it — the place reeks of nostalgia, which means it’s escapism prettied up by V’s brain. It’d make sense; a nomad’s travels bring them far and wide, and in this case, farther and wider than even that of an influential anti-establishment rockerboy and his band. Physically, at least.]

Don’t think I ever made it up to Maine, no. My stomping grounds were a little more southwestern USA, before I ended up in Night City.

[With a military stint jammed in-between. The shitty sea change that shook it all to pieces, but that needn’t be said.]

So this means I’m intruding on a little personal zen time. I'd say I'm sorry, but it looks like a real snoozefest.

[Johnny failed in Sensitivity 101, but there's a part of him pointedly ignoring the fact that he's intruded on something better kept a distance from. Like he's the wrong kind of brushstroke in this picturesque land, tainting memory and wistfulness, unbelonging. Akin to the butt of his cigarette burning in untouched grass.]