We were propped up on his brown couch, a terra cota bowl of cereal on his lap; the sky beneath the picture window signals a dismal, depression-ridden morning. A guy clad in a yellow, pre-shrunk shirt was on television singing, "To be is all I gotta be...and all that I see...and all that I need this time..." I pulled off a nonchalant demeanor. I can be such a terrific hypocrite.

It was pretty nonetheless.