Miller set down the newspaper and sighed. "I saw it on TV. Everyone did." He put up a hand. "Now before you go telling me not to trust everything on TV..."

"I shouldn't have to tell you that," Klein said.

The kettle sounded off, so Miller shook his head and got up from the table. He put the sugar in, a copious amount, and scooped a spatula's worth of scrambled eggs onto Klein's plate.

I can't figure how anyone can stand so much sugar, Miller thought. He felt like he was giving candy to a kid, then stopped himself. It wasn't right to think that way about Klein.

"Here ya go," Miller said as he turned the corner to their living room. "What in Sam Hill..."

He heard the noise first, a loud thump. Klein was half out of his chair and whimpering. His good arm was pushing against the wall and his small, wrinkly one was trying with his nubby fingers to cling to the chair. His legs were all twisted up, but Miller knew it only hurt him to look at them, as Klein didn't feel a thing below the waste. Now and then, Miller felt a little jealous of Klein. Moments like this reminded him that switching places never got rid of problems. It just switched them up. He sure wished he could forget about women though. Or at least see them all the way he saw the Chen girls.

"What are you doin' you wild typhoon?" Miller said, putting the food on the coffee table and reaching for Klein.

"No," Klein said. Had he a hand free, he'd have swatted at Millers.

Miller didn't like doing it, but sometimes he had to force his help on Klein. He may not have been fit, but you don't heft bags of cement over your head for that many years and not get strong. He grabbed Klein's torso in both his hands and hoisted him up, then held him with one arm while he straightened his little legs out with the other.

Klein straightened his glasses and said nothing until Miller started to put the food on his tray.

"No," Klein said.

"Whaddaya mean 'no'?".

"I was getting my computer."

"What for?" Miller asked.

"To show you."

"Klein," Miller said, "you done fell out your chair so you could try and prove your theory to me?"

Klein didn't say anything.

Miller set the food and tea back down on the coffee table and reached for Klein's laptop. It was heavy enough that it hurt his wrist to grab it one handed, and when he knelt down to get a better hold his knee gave out. He hit the coffee table, and the pile of clutter he'd set Klein's breakfast on slipped right off, spilling the food and hot tea all over the carpet.

"Damn it!" Miller said. He'd smacked into Klein's chair too.

"Hey!" Klein said. "Be careful!"

Miller closed his eyes and sucked in his anger, then rolled onto his side and propped himself against the wall. He rubbed his knee, which hurt so bad he didn't notice Mr. Wilson screaming at him to be quiet from the other side of the wall.

"I'll get it later," Miller said when he saw Klein pining after his laptop.

"I hope it isn't broke," Klein said.

"Oh, I'm sure it's fine. That thing's built like a tank."

"It's brand new," Klein said.

"I know. I bought you the danged thing. I swear, sometimes it seems you've forgotten that."

"I make money with it," Klein said, his voice getting quieter.

"I know, buddy. And you have a lot of fun with it too. That's why I got it for you."

It was Miller's favorite day of the whole year. His knee felt fine, his breathing was fine, he didn't have a headache, and when he saw the 'out of business' sign on the door of Klein's favorite electronics store he worried that it was a bad omen. But then he saw the pricetags through the glass. It made him whistle. It was one of three times he'd ever seen Klein smile.

"You should have got the warranty," Klein said.

"I didn't think you'd be throwing it halfway across the living room. Here..."

He winced as he lifted it. Klein grabbed it eagerly, fussing over it like a mother does her newborn.

"How is it?" Miller asked.

"It's okay. Here. I'll show you the article I read."

"Hold on. Let me go see who's at the door."

Standing up and walking was brutal. His knee was on fire, and he'd wrenched his elbow when he went down. Mr. Wilson was at the door. He looked like a chihuahua with his scrawny limbs and big bug eyes, all shaking from how mad he was.

"Hi there Mist..."

Mr. Wilson didn't give him a chance to be polite. He was railing away as soon as the door was open, carrying on about how his wife can't sleep at night anymore, and how every time she tried to nap during the day he and Klein woke her up with all their racket. Miller felt his nails pinching into his palm.

"Now look," he said, keeping calm, "my knee gave out and I fell. I didn't mean..."

Mr. Wilson was only quiet for a second, and once Miller mentioned his knee the old twerp was ranting about excuses and draft dodgers and ungrateful hippie scumbags. When he finally left he was throwing his arms in the air and threatening to tell the manager that Miller was doing drugs and neglecting his son.

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"Why does he think I'm your son?" Klein asked. "I have more gray hair than you."

Miller shook his head and wiped his brow, then closed the door and went back to the living room.

"I don't suppose he does much thinking of any sort."

"I looked up the article," Klein said. His voice was oddly gentle. It got that way when he was feeling sorry for Miller.

"Let me clean up first."

"Okay. Miller, you don't have to cook me any more food. I'm not really that hungry. I can wait till lunch."

"No, you can't. There's plenty more. I'll scoop you up some more out of the pan."

He knew there was no way he could bend down, so he went to the hall way for the vacuum. He had a heck of a time getting it out of the closet, and bent the leg on the ironing born during the struggle. Then he got it into the living room and realized he'd still have to bend down to plug it in.

"Let me," said Klein.

"No. I'll just have to pick you up again."

Miller didn't like the way Klein's mouth tightened up. You could never tell ahead of time if Klein was going to cry or start cussing. Miller thought his cussing fits were funny, but couldn't handle him crying, so he handed him the plug.

"Allright, Klein. Show me what you got."

Klein pulled himself up with his good arm, holding the chord in his mouth. When he'd gotten half over the arm of his chair, he pushed against the other side with his nubs. Then he swung his head back and forth until the plug was moving fast and he let it go at just the right time. Miller couldn't see how he managed to get a hold on it and plug it in, but when he kicked the switched the vacuum turned on. But it didn't do any good. The bag was full and it just smashed the eggs deeper into the carpet. Miller kicked the switch again and shook his head. He wanted to throw the vacuum out the window, but he'd probably just fall over again when he lifted it. besides, he didn't like getting angry in front of Klein.

"Miller," said Klein, "Miller, listen!"

Miller listened, then shrugged. "What?"

"Santiago's outside!"

He heard the old dog snorting in the garden.

"So?"

"Have him clean the floor!"

Klein's mouth twitched in the corners, and Miller thought he might smile. That would make it four.

Miller laughed, then set the vacuum in the hall and went outside.

"Howdy, Ms. Burgos."

"Good morning, Mr. Miller."

Rosa was reclining on her lawn chair with a book. Miller could barely see her face under her big straw hat, but she was almost always smiling. Miller was about to make his request, then realized how silly it was, so he limped down the sidewalk to Rosa's patio and folded his arms on the rail.

"So, uh," Miller said, laughing, "I uh, I spilled some eggs on the floor, and I was gonna clean 'em up but my knee is real bad to day. And I need to change the bag in my vacuum, so..."

Rosa lifted her hat and she was indeed smiling, widely.

"You want to borrow my dog?" She laughed to.

"If you don't mind."

"Of course not. Santiago! Come here you big Chupacabra! Here he comes. Oh boy!"

When Rosa first brought him home, she told Miller she'd gotten a longhaired beagle. Miller gently broke the news that she'd fallen in with a St. Bernard.

"Shh," she said, then quietly "Mrs. Lennox thinks I have a longhaired beagle."

Miller then patiently lectured her on the cruelty of keeping such a large dog in an apartment her size, but she swore up and down that she had one when she was a little girl, and the house her foster parents lived in wasn't very big. Miller tended to forget what a vagabond she was, being taken from Puerto Rico to Mexico, then to Arizona, then to Vermont where she was eventually adopted. When she was seventeen she up and left and she herself claimed not to remember the names of the next three states she lived in, and when she told stories of the time the names of the cities always changed. It wasn't long before Miller realized there was no better home for Santiago. Rosa doted on the dog, and he grew up big, sloppy and happy.

Klein had pulled his bib up over his shirt and had managed to set his laptop back on the TV tray in the corner. Santiago turned his head left and right, torn between the smell of the eggs and the urge to slobber all over Klein. He went to Klein first, giving him just a couple of chin to brow licks before hoovering the eggs. Miller had worried that the tea might stain (not that another stain would make much of a difference), but Santiago licked it pretty darn clean. Miller went in the kitchen and put the rest of the eggs on his plate, then gave it to Klein, not mentioning that they were out of eggs. He popped a tape in the VCR and they watched WrestleMania Three while Santiago lay by their feet. Miller was slow to get up when the tape was done. Partly because of his knee, mostly because he liked having Santiago around. He missed the days before his knee got worse and Rosa semi-retired.

When he brought Santiago back, Rosa had changed from her 'comfy' dress and was wearing jeans. a button up blouse and her cropped denim jacket. Miller held in a whistle, because she was every bit his kind of woman, and made plain clothes look like evening wear.

"Now where are you off to?"

"I'm going to the store." She had her purse over her shoulder, and took out a paper and pen. "Here. Write down what you need."

Miller opened his mouth, but instead of talking, he ended up just shaking his head. "Rosa..." he said after a half a minute.

"Do it." She pushed the pen and pad into his chest. Santiago got his paws on the rail and licked him. "See. Even he wants you to."

"Well, it's rude to refuse kindness, I suppose."

He jotted down a few things. Eggs, butter, refined sugar, bacon, potato chips, diet cola, the basics.

"Now you let me know how much this all costs, Mrs. Burgos." He shook the pen at her like a parent shaking their finger.

"Listen, Mr. Miller," she stopped smiling and got real serious, "you walked my dog every day for six years, and I never once paid you."

"I never once charged you."

"I'll be back," Mrs. Burgos said.

"Your'e an angel."

She smiled again. "I know."

She snapped her fingers, getting Santiago to drop from the rail and go back inside, then put on her sunglasses and went to her beat up old Stratus.

"Do you still drink Beer?" she asked before closing the car door.

"Uhm," Miller said, "I... Nah. Not really."

"Okay. See you soon."

Miller stood there for a minute, his hand on the rail.

"What a lady," he said.

Santiago woofed as if he'd heard and was agreeing. Miller chuckled, then went back inside. Rosa wasn't gone long. Miller kind of wished she had been, as he hadn't much time to ice his knee. He spent most of his time trying to get the vacuum back inside the hall closet. But Rosa recruited the three teenage boys who liked to hang out by the dumpsters and smoke to help her, so the only work Miller had left to do was to put the groceries away.

He opened a bag of chips right away. His stomach was groaning. He wanted to shout at it, and tell it that it was plenty big enough, and threaten to starve it if it didn't hush. He used to do that sort of thing all the time, but when he moved Klein in Klein would tease him to no end over it, so he learned to just think about what he would like to say to himself were he to have the opportunity. He also wanted to give Rosa a scolding. She bought way more than he wrote down, and he didn't see those boys bring one single bag to her her apartment. But Miller felt good. He did do a lot for her back when he could. It was something he could always remind himself of when he was feeling low.

Today was good, he thought as he was laying in bed with his book. The night was a different matter, though. Klein needed the mop.