Kierk assents and soon the two stand in the kitchen and trade hits, Alex laughing at Kierk’s fit of coughing after his first big one.

“You know I was thinking that maybe I could even fill in for Atif in that project you cooked up with Carmen. The brain-to-brain stuff? I mean once I’m trained up enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely.” Exhalation.

They quickly exhaust the first bowl as Kierk matches him hit for hit, burning it down to the resin, until Alex has packed a total of four bowls. He doesn’t say anything but observes that Kierk’s pupils have completely dilated; yet Kierk hasn’t mentioned slowing down, and every time Alex has proffered the pipe another hit is taken. Eventually Alex decides to spare him from himself and puts an end to it.

A high Kierk notices a framed photograph on the refrigerator. It’s of a young man, short and lithe and with dark hair, wearing only boxers and a white T-shirt, not facing the camera but turned to the side and holding a confident arabesque with one leg far out behind him at a 90-degree angle, his back arched and his hands turned and held up over his head, posed in an apartment cluttered with flora and books, the light from a tall window with drawn-back curtains streaming in and Kierk thought that it must be California light as no other light looked so slow moving, so rich and heavy with itself, so like golden cream.

“Who’s this?”

“Oh . . . That’s just somebody that I used to know. Jason. His name is Jason.”

Kierk opens the refrigerator door, digs out a pair of beers, passes one to Alex, and the two stand together at the counter. Alex looks doubtfully at the beer he’s been handed. One eyebrow goes up as Kierk takes a deep swill.

“He was someone you knew in California?”

Alex nods. “Old boyfriend. How’d you know that picture is from—”

“The light,” Kierk says, walking over to explore Alex’s copious gaming shelf.

“Oh . . . Well, he’s actually in the city. He moved here across the country two years ago. That’s why we broke up.”

“But you were living together?”

“For a while actually.”

Kierk looks over from thumbing through titles. “You contacted him?”

“No . . . No, I unfriended him on Facebook. It was a pretty hard breakup.”

“Facebook . . .” Kierk mutters angrily under his breath from his crouch, then—“You should get in touch with him again. If the big problem with the relationship was that he moved then the only thing that’s stopping you is pride. Besides, you two looked like you were good together.”

“Thanks but uh . . . How would you know?”