San Francisco is a blur of the past and suddenly we are surrounded by our youth. We are at Disneyland. One wild afternoon of adrenaline and ice cream crusted lips, of locked hands on terrifying rides and mice kissing, of children and laughter. And when I see him smile, I know that it is not okay, because nothing that young should have to face death.

    I ask him if he wants me to videotape him, like he had asked. He tells me the time isn’t right yet. I don’t understand. His hourglass only has so many grains of sand left, he doesn’t have time to be picky. But I don’t complain because although I am a lot of things, I am not yet so self-righteous that I’ll tell him how to live his life. Or whatever is left of it. And we continue driving.

    I drive. Dexter doesn’t tell me where we’re going, but I know he’s tired. The night before he spent it retching in the bathroom under the cover of night. I clutched the sheets of the bed to my chest, listening to the sobbing of his soul and wondering if he needed me. But I don't know how to help people and so I let him lose a piece of his humanity in that motel bathroom. And I drive on.

    Maybe that’s why he picked me for this insane journey. He might care for Grace, but unlike her I don’t care. Love is like a contagious disease and I have immunity. And he might die and other people might weep for his loss. I won’t, though, because stars die all the time and no one notices their removal from the night sky, and stars are much more beautiful than any human being.