Parker took a deep breath, in a lunge on his yoga mat while the TV played in the background. His ears were trained on the news, all about him and the stunt him and his gang pulled yesterday.

He was shirtless, his hair tied up and in his grey pants as he usually was when stretching. It was a calming habit: something that could ground him when half of his life was in disarray. His tattoos, a weak effort to cover up the growing red and vein like pattern on his back, torso, and arms, were completely visible.