“What’s wrong with that?” asks the young man.
Between his sobs and sniffles, he answers, “You don’t understand, every morning before she goes to work, we make love. At lunchtime she comes home and we make love again, and then she makes my favorite meal. And then at night, we make love again.” He breaks down, no longer able to speak.
The young man puts his arm around him. “I don’t understand. It sounds like you have the perfect relationship. Why are you sitting here on this park bench crying?”
The old man answers, again through his tears, “I forgot where I live.”