THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
It is nice, I think, to have someone call you when you're sitting on a curb in a parking lot as the sun goes down in a place you don't really live waiting for someone to remember to come pick you up- to ask if you're alright.
Even if they have nothing intelligent to say, even if they just talk about the weather in Alaska, even if they talk about puzzles and six year olds.
It's nice.