Bandy legged, unable to pull themselves together, slightly mad, or stupid, or in a stupor, or just lazy. Capable of inspiring great passion, unleashing a flood of tears, a rushing river of life-restoring laughter, sometimes they just kick their skinny legs, eyes glassy, and don’t want to have anything to do with each other.

Like when you learn the good looking young CEO of the small company that hired your animation workshop died suddenly of a cancer she’d kept to herself.   Or the old friend you visited the other night, who looked so well and chatted so relaxedly with you long into the night, gone.

After I zipped up my dirty jacket, years worn but trusty against the cold, she said “you look like an explorer.”  I said “I am an explorer,” and she smiled.   We loved each other and told each other so.  I marveled that it was such a quick subway ride back from her home, even at 1:30 a.m.  Then she was gone, sitting in her chair by the computer, but no longer there.