We're in his bed, sailing across a companionable silence.
He says: "What year is it?"
"It's the year one," I say back.
"Do we have the wheel yet? Has it been invented?"
"We have everything we need."
"What about telescopes?"
"We can see the stars with our eyes."

Then we touched each of our fingertips to their match on the other's hand one by one in the air above us.