"Watcher?"
"You know—the man who took you in for drinks. You don't think I'd let you go into the City alone, do you?"
Larry smiled. "I thought it was too neat, the way he met me and sent me back. But—but—"
He looked up helplessly at his father. "Today I saw the Playground, Dad. And I don't know what to do." His voice trailed off indistinctly.
"What's the trouble, son?"
"Tomorrow I have to make my choice. Well, the Playground seems to be out—they turn into vegetables there—but am I ready for the City?"
"I don't understand, Larry."
"I was sickened by the place." He leaned forward and said, "Dad, why are children raised on the unworry drug?"
"We try to spare you," his father said. "Seventeen years of tranquility—it's good, isn't it?"
"Not when it ends. It's the worst possible preparation for a life in your world, Dad. I'm not ready for it—and I never will be! My childhood hasn't taught me how to worry!"