I'm watching the pilot episode of "Heroes." You've probably already seen it; I'm late to the party.

I want to tell you so many things. I want to tell you about the rain and the wind and the sound of the cars outside, leap-frogging over one another to get to another dull place. I want to tell you how it feels to run my fingers through the cat's fur. I want to take you to the food court and eat cheese on a stick. With mustard. Or maybe chicken vindaloo.

We don't need to talk about anything hard. You can tell me about your apartment and your cat, and what it's like to live somewhere that prides itself on its insomnia. We can dress up and see a show. Or go for a walk. I bet you go for lots of walks. Do you still wear your hair long? Listen to Bob Dylan? Act?

I'm pretty much the same.

Still here.