We drive along for a couple of minutes more. In the end we pull up to a two-story flat complex with a wellspring in the yard.

He fixes his safety belt yet makes no move to leave the auto. "Nothing can transpire," he says.

I reach over and grasp his hand. "Much obliged to you," is whatever I can think to state. I need to disclose to him that it's his blame that I'm around here. That affection opens you up the world.

I was upbeat before I met him. In any case, I'm alive now, and those are not a similar thing.