“Do you know how much the median house price has gone up this year?” he said. “Fucking one hundred fifty percent. Same last year. It’s a classic bubble economy. They say that’s not the case because it’s real estate, but it is. There’s precedent. It’s called the Great fucking Depression.”

“It would only make sense,” I said. “Since I just bought something a few months ago.”

“Ha!” he said. “The landed gentry.”

We talked about music, politics, friends, the weather. Benny had learned a lot about nutrition he wanted to pass on. He knew all about herbal supplements and non-Western medicines, which was ironic, considering his lifestyle, but his interest was genuine. He refused to finish his muffin because of the processed sugar and corn syrup.

I told him a little about my new house, my wife. He said he had heard the news, and offered heartfelt congratulations. And then it was back to him.

He couldn’t stop talking that day. He talked so much, in fact, I wondered if he was high, but he claimed more than once he was clean. He’d been clean for three months, supposedly. The talking was just him being himself. It was as if he was frightened what someone else might say in the breaths between sentences.

“I’m talking to a friend about opening a music store,” he told me. “This guy, he used to run Apple Music. He knows the business upside down, man. He knows all the vendors. And he knows, I mean knows, this town could use another good music store. Kids are moving here all the time. They need to buy their fucking guitars somewhere. This place is overflowing with trust-funders—pockets full of mommy and daddy’s cash. We’re talking about taking a space over on Grand Avenue. Good traffic over there.”

“That’s great, Benny,” I said. “That’s a great idea.”

It had begun raining outside, and the sun had gone down. The plate glass was spattering with droplets. Compared with some of the past plans I’d heard, the music store sounded almost plausible. From someone else, it might even have sounded inspired. But coming from Benny, I knew it would go nowhere.

“So I saw your dad a few months ago,” I said, partly just to change the subject.

“Cool for you,” Benny said.

“He said he’d like to see you.”

“What for?” he said. The mere mention of his relations made Benny uncomfortable. The train of thought led too quickly to regret, resentment, recrimination. Better never to climb on board.

“I don’t think he has a reason,” I said.

“He always has a reason,” he said. “Believe me. He has a thousand reasons.”