He doesn't believe in depression. When he comes home from work and the lights are all off, he thinks it is an affectation to synthetically darken my mood. But I suppose in extremes therein lies the greatest of friendships, or bloodiest of victories. There is this face he makes when he is figuring something out, his glasses slip down and he stares at something like he has never seen it before. He is unintentionally funny, much to his own bemusement.
Last night he announced he was a love pauper, whereas his mother was a love millionaire. Ever the savvy investor, he hesitates to make a mistake in something that has never ceased to complicate him, smoothing edges and softening tongues.
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