He swallows again, trying to convince his throat not to constrict at just the thought of 'friends'. He sips his coffee; tells himself the sugar warms him better than any dream.

"I never had all that many friends, in LA," he says, then, as if talking about the weather. "I could count them with the fingers of just one hand. Three of them died in less than a year, and I couldn't do one thing to save them. I didn't see it coming."