Jerald has a thing for ice cream. It is snowing outside, below freezing, and he has the heater on, tropical, Hawaiian shorts and flip flops with chocolate fudge dripping down his chin as he licks the spoon then dips it back into the tub of Lord Have Mercy On His Blood Sugar Levels Delight. She worries that he with be diabetic. She begs him to go jogging, to be more austere. He laughs, 'you only live once.' She knows a man, 64, now in a diabetic coma. Her mom, 62, can barely walk; both Type 2. Her hand, his wrist.