He stopped when he got to his building, looking up the window of his living room, four stories above him. “Now I find out if I can walk through things.”
He could. Through the building’s front door, the doors to the emergency stairs—since he had the feeling he wouldn’t be able to push the elevator button to reach his floor—and then through the door to his apartment.
“Home sweet home,” he said sadly. “Not any more. I’m sure the building manager will clear out all my stuff as soon as he finds out I’m dead, so he can rent it again. Or my folks will.”
That gave him pause. He hadn’t considered what would happen when his family was notified of his death. “They’ll have a funeral, of course. Will George come?”