Why have these memories been brought out again, here in Japan—the orange scarf, the garden—like a yard sale of his life? Has he lost his mind, or is everything a reflection? The butter bean, the mugwort, the scarf, the garden; is this not a window but a mirror? Two birds are quarreling in the fountain. Again, as he did as a boy, he can only look on

Strange, though; because he is afraid of everything, nothing is harder than anything else. Taking a trip around the world is no more terrifying than buying a stick of gum. The daily dose of courage.

the time when any couple has found its balance, and passion has quieted from its early scream, but gratitude is still abundant; what no one realizes are the golden years.

With God’s happiness, he writes back, I accept the pedestal of power,

“You need to get an edge,” his old rival Carlos constantly told him in the old days, but Less had not known what that meant. To be mean? No, it meant to be protected, armored against the world, but can one “get” an edge any more than one can “get” a sense of humor?

I had taken him for confident when he was in truth full of worry and terror.

watch the romances and comedies of his mind projected onto his face,

We all recognize grief in moments that should be celebrations; it is the salt in the pudding.

Less sighs and breathes in the night. Above them, the Milky Way rises in a plume of smoke. He turns to his friend in the firelight. “Happy anniversary, Lewis.” “Thank you. Clark and I are divorcing.” Less sits straight up on his cushion. “What?” Lewis shrugs. “We decided a few months ago. I have been waiting to tell you.” “Wait wait wait, what? Wha