He told me something about the country.
"Do you miss it?" I asked.
"Sometimes," he said.
"I could live in the country maybe."
"You would go crazy."
"I might not! I don't know. I get confused, like I have too many personalities or something."
I watched the thick woods whiz by, spotting cabins tucked behind trees, then suddenly startled by the gaps that lent views of valleys dotted by red barns and tiny white-steepled churches. I thought about how I really could live just like that, but how it would just have to be a different version of me.
"I don't know. Maybe I want to live 500 different lives," I said, half to myself.
I saw him shrug his shoulders. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it. One at a time."