The happy dog

The room warms up a couple of degrees when you walk in. It isn't effort put into lifting the mood — you're simply enjoying yourself and it spreads. Ten minutes with a stranger and you're behaving like old friends, so you can be dropped anywhere and it works out.

Your sense for the present moment is unusually good. You can say the food is good and the day is good the moment it's true, which makes you easy to be around. You're also good beside someone having a hard time: no heavy words laid on top, just staying there — and sometimes that's the only thing that helps.

Later, though, keeps becoming later. You know what's due, but if something fun is happening now your body goes there first, and the sprint before a deadline turns into the method. Telling this type to plan the whole future is the wrong instruction. Name one thing to finish today instead — that one usually gets done.

Everything shows on your face. You're bad at hiding it, so the good mood is visible and so is the bruised one — and that's exactly why people trust you. Ten minutes is enough to tell you aren't running a calculation. The flip side is that on a bad day the whole room sinks with you, so keeping one place to cool off alone makes the relationships much easier.

You remember the days themselves. What was said goes blurry, but what you ate and where you laughed stays sharp. An ordinary afternoon everyone else let pass gets turned into a story here — which is why time spent with this type reads unusually vivid later on.