“Hibiscus” I said as we passed a business front with the flowers painted on, the letters HB printed large on the door. “That’s the name of the flower…”. it occurred to me that I was answering a mind-muddled question that had been attempted at least a week previously. I realized as I said the words, that no matter how observant or how much he was listening, the man next to me wouldn’t have remembered the conversation. I also was more than likely digging for the name of the flower, while perched atop a bicycle, mumbling into the wind. “He loves me, but not enough to read my mind,” I thought to myself.