We embrace, spoon style as he's rather twitchy. Tickly and prickly. He pecks the inside of my elbow like a machine gun. I reach out an arm to enclose another one because it appears that everyone is in a touchy feely kind of a mood. The infection proves contagious as the last one snuggles into the huddle. I am lucky to have exceptionally long arms, the kind that poke out two inches from every cuff ever designed. They giggle in a piggle, with far too many sucky and gurgley noises because we don't need any words. They burst apart at the same immeasurable second as an invisible message passes between them. They hare off on tippy toes, blundering hither and thither with whoops of glee, so miserable are we. I glance down at my arm.