He glanced around the bowling hall but there was no sign of the other man there either. Maybe he got scared and ran off... but John couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the man was tied up with what had happened to him, and that if he could only find him he could get some answers. Perhaps the clerk could give him a description, maybe identify him if he was a regular? But as John started walking over to the desk, he saw the panic on the clerk's face. Oh right, he thought, I'm huge, green, and nearly naked. For some reason people don't react well to that. Now I know how the Hulk feels...
The clerk was clearly not going to answer any questions; he looked as though he might run off or pull a gun at any moment. The group of middle-aged women were starting to react too; out of the corner of his eye, John could see some of them pointing at him. He decided it was time to get out of there and go some place out more private before anyone had chance to scream or call the cops.
He turned and dashed out of the bowling alley. The cool air was a relief as he jogged easily across the parking lot to his car, the tough soles of his bare feet thumping against the concrete. He enjoyed the brief exertion and was tempted to keep going, running flat out into the night until his powerful legs burned. But no, that would be a bad idea.
His keys were in his pants, which were wrapped around his waist upside-down. He fumbled with them for a minute, trying to fish the keys out of the pocket -- the angle was awkward and his hands didn't fit in there properly any more. In the end, he just removed the pants altogether and shook them until the keys fell out. He unlocked the car, opened the door, tossed the pants onto the passenger seat -- he was more comfortable naked than with them flopping around -- started to get into the car, and banged his head on the doorframe.
He glared at the car and rubbed his temple, then eased more cautiously into the driver's seat. Apparently he'd got taller, too -- not to mention heavier, judging by the way the car sank down. He had to adjust the seat to fit him, moving it back and way down. Even then, everything felt cramped. Well, it wasn't far to home. He could live with it.
All of his usual driving reflexes were off -- the controls weren't where he expected, his foot pressed the pedals way too hard unless he was careful, and the wheel was tiny in his hands. After a couple of near misses, he wound up driving very slowly and carefully, afraid of getting into an accident looking like this. If he'd come across any police his slow pace itself probably would have made them suspicious, but luckily the streets were clear and he made it back home without incident.
As he pulled into the drive and turned off the engine, he tried to figure out what to do next. His first instinct was just to bolt to his room and hide, keeping out of Brian's way and hoping he'd turn back soon. After all, it wore off before, right? On the other hand, it had already happened a couple of times -- maybe three, if that hadn't just been a dream -- and it seemed likely to happen again. He couldn't just stay in his room forever. Maybe Brian could help?