As I wobble back up to my usual vantage point, Riley scuttles over, reaching out so we can hold hands. Somewhere, someone out there must be looking at us — a doting mother escorting her clumsy daughter across a parking lot on a hot summer afternoon.

“Hey, look at me,” she says, exaggerating a gesture, “Less shoulders, more hips.” Another reminder of just how this girlish frame demands I carry myself.

Sigh, “I should’ve stayed in bed and masturbated.”

Riley lets out a short cackle and pats my hand. “That’s the first normal thing you’ve said all day!”