Where his gut had told him to go and where he hadn't gone. You stop listening to your gut, getting back in the swing of things proves a chore. And you might pay a price, slow stepping. But he was taking steps and it had felt good, rapidly scribbling down Gillespie's answers to his questions, and he felt like a technology dynamo, propping his phone up between the dash and the front window, putting it on speaker, asking her questions and listening to her answers. Derek knew software existed that would just record and transcribe every word anyone said, but he couldn't imagine doing that. His old man's brain had been warped by past procedures. There wasn't time to learn how to be fast. Short term, he would abide the path worn down by all those dinosaurs, all those skeletons littering the fourth estate. Long term, he'd familiarize his grey hairs with the tech-dependent paths all the young Woodwards and Bernsteins tread.