He has become one of those folk you see in crosswalks, shouting vehemently at empty air, and from the relative sanctity of your auto-cabin you think silently to yourself: "Oh my, that person's crazy, of course;" but this is your only impression of the fellow, because you did not know him as a precocious if reserved child, or a moderately-attractive fourteen-year-old shyly receiving his first kiss. To you, he only appears briefly, in walk-on roles at best, as you move steadily and swiftly through your own life-long drama; to him, however, you are but the same, and he sees no disconnect between that sorrowful night at the dinner-table and this chance encounter with the chirpish grub-monger. His life is a continuum, as is yours, as is mine.