When a friend leaves after visiting, I always feel a little bereft afterwards. I do not necessarily want the friend to stay. But I am also missing him. He has to get back to work, to school, to other people. But I want that sandbox time again, that time to laugh and visit, to guffaw over the steering wheel as we consume burgers one late night. He flicks a bit of potato from his fingertips and I spill the dipping sauce for those fast-hardening chicken things called nuggets. Pass the napkins and he laughs aloud: "In other countries, that means feminine products," I laugh in reply knowing the minutes are passing. I know I will take Tagamet later.