“I was a premature baby too,” I said simply. “Hmmm,” he considered, observing me. “Well, I don’t see people of my own age very often, so I really can’t tell if you are one or not,” he concluded. “But I guess I believe you. Either way, you’re lucky. You don’t seem as sickly as me. More in the body than in the mind. I might not meet all of the criteria of the term ‘lunatic’, at least not a good deal of the time. Though you’d expect me to become a bit stir crazy and essentric in this confinment. The point is, I’m not well. I’m ill, but not mentally retarded or an insane phsyco. Just sickly and gloomy, that’s all,” he explained. Casimir. His name was Casimir. At first, he did most of the talking. I merely observed him. Obviously, he was depressed and down. He had a blasé manner about him, and I reckoned that was because he hadn’t seen much of the world or had exciting life experiences. Still, something about him told me that I could trust him, despite the fact that he did have issues. But didn’t we all?