My old friend appeared at the door. He had always been, if not vain, fastidious in his presentation. Now he was only partly shaven, with his shirt worn inside out. “Rand,” he whispered, “Thank God.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so exhausted. He dragged his fingers through his long greying hair and waved me in. The apartment was nearly bare, with a recliner parked in its center—the site of his long, lonely vigil.