Hong Kong, sometime Monday, in this time zone.

Priestly blinked.

He was standing in the middle of the road in Hong Kong, surrounded by rather a lot of locals all jostling at him and yelling for him to get his stupid, American ass out of the way, staring out at . . . the rest of Hong Kong.

He had his phone clenched in his fist, with a fuzzy, crappy picture of what looked like a giant dust cloud straight out of the Dust Bowl. As he stood there, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Dude," said Jen. "Why'd you hang up on me?"

"Jen!" Priestly pumped his free hand in the air, turning to head back towards the bar he'd been hanging out in. "You exist!"

"Well, yes --"

"And Tish? Trucker? Zo? Mr. Julius? My mom?"

"They . . . all exist, too?"

And now the locals were yelling at Priestly to stop running down the street, yelling, and waving his hand in the air while talking on the phone.

Priestly wasn't in much of a mood to listen to them, though.

[ooc: Yay, he's back! Open for phone calls and things, with some slow play likely.]