He once asked me if I could write a poem. And so I asked him, "What's it for?" And he responded, "Oh, nothing." And that's when I knew it was important. So I sat down to write. And I sat more than I wrote. But finally. I came up with. Something. He liked it. I was glad. The next day he came up to me and said, "Thanks." I asked, "For what?" And he said, "Oh. Nothing." Then he shrugged and walked. Away. And I knew that he was thanking me for. Everything.