After breakfast, Angelo blew out the candles in his cereal box apartment and tucked the red door under one arm.

“Thank you for everything,” he said.

“Are you sure you have to go?”

“Yes.” He smiled a magnificent smile. “Of that much I’m sure.”

I unlocked the door and an icy draft crept over our feet. “Won’t you be cold in the snow?” I asked.

“I’m going to run the whole way. That will keep me warm.” Angelo jogged one elbow back and forth.

“Write to me, so I know you’re okay,” I said.

Angelo nodded. “I’ll send postcards.”