When the door was at last open, Pita reluctantly followed Masaki into the apartment. It was a little on the sloppy side—jackets that had been tossed on a coat rack had spilled onto the floor, and dirty dishes were piled in the sink—but it was a nice place, all right. Nicer than her parents’ low-rent condo, and certainly nicer than the streets. It must have cost him some serious nuyen. The furniture was a bit sparse; this place probably ate up most of his salary.