“Wait . . . where's my e-key?'

This again. A guy who can organise the stuff he does, fix computers and build scale model bridges and pyramids and simulation Mars bases in the backyard for our neighbourhood summer Coyote Camps, and he still misplaces his zap-key nearly every freaking day.

I scan the room.

'Down there. Under the, the left boot of the, uh, R-Mer.'

Yehat scoops it up, stands up, ready to go, but then: 'Ah, my, uh, wallet . . . .'

I scan.

'Side of the couch.'

He digs. He wins.

'Oh . . . and my glasses.'

'On your face.'

'Where would I be without you?'

'Locked outside of house, blind, without money.”