I’d never seen him so pale or gaunt. His eyes were sunken, riveted to the bank of monitors in front of him, and his clothes hung loosely from his emaciated frame. He clearly hadn’t seen the sun or any other light except his flat screens for weeks.

“My God, you look awful,” I said.

“The outside reflects the inside,” he replied without moving.

“You need to get up and do something,” I said. “You’re letting these people do whatever they like with your stuff. Kevin is out there now using your charge card, and Mary’s been tooling around in your car.”

“They’re doing what I’d like to do,” came the reply. “What the hell’s wrong with that?”

“You’re not doing it and they are. You’re letting them take over your life.”

A hoarse laugh. “Maybe so. Maybe I took over theirs. They’re kids, you know, really. Away from home for the first time, going out, establishing identities. It’s what I’ve wanted all along…”

“What you wanted?”

“You heard me.”

Harry gnawed meditatively on the end of a pencil, leaving deep tooth marks.

“That’s a bad habit,” I reminded him, as I always did.

“And you have a bad habit of reminding me that it’s a bad habit,” came the standard reply.

Everyone has a nervous habit, and Harry simply preferred pencil-chewing. He claimed it was cheaper than smoking, and better for the environment to boot. In front of the bank of computer monitors in his apartment, there was always a fresh batch of pencils in a little jar. I once got a good laugh by replacing one with a yellow pen, which burst and gave Harry a blue mouth for a week.

Don’t get me wrong–I want to be sad about what happened. But how can I be, when every memory I have of Harry is so much fun?