"So?" So what? Aaron likes to think he understands Daryl, and then this enigma rears its head. It's like the point of some outre poem he read in college. How much can you ever really know another person? Apparently not enough.

But the mystery is a pleasant distraction from his own self-important sorrow. He sighs, and it becomes something like a laugh, a little wet peal at the back of his throat. "I guess you're right," he mutters, "the world doesn't stop for me."

He'd really prefer it if it never stopped for anyone.

Aaron looks back down at his stolen wine. "When my father left," he says, "my mother threw out all the alcohol. She didn't drink for years."