You would need to know their scent, where they grew up, the view. If they were read to and if so what. What foods they loved and hated; what foods they love and hate. What counts as an absolute. You would need to know whom they’d betray, if they’d save you in a fire, under fire. You would need to talk for hours while paddling a canoe, at Pizza Hut. You would need to leaf through their journalsand look in their Drafts. You would need their WhatsApps. You would need to know the names under which they’ve saved you, and them. You would need to know whether they consume when they wake and what. What they want on their birthday. How they wash their parts. What they imagine answering on Desert Island Discs. What they think of when they touch. The home they dream of. If they dream. You would need to know what they’d do if they had twice the thing they want. Twice that want. What they recite in their head as a tooth is drilled.