He doesn't mention the incident and so I won't either, nodding along with what he says though I can't say I know what's so weird about it. I guess T.J.'s still kind of a mystery to me. Most of my friends are. I still haven't figured out whether it's right to ask about where people came from before, what kind of life they lived. I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to miss mine more. "I never had a real job before coming here," I tell him, fully aware it's kind of boring. Most of me is. "I mean, I delivered newspapers. But that was really for my mom."