Will goes west and lives on a cloud. There are mountains and palm trees and his life with a redwood deck overlooking an abstractly spiritual landscape is now a second floor apartment about 30 yards from a pool. It is this place where he reported everyday while Jill methodically gets herself off to work right around the corner. Just about every morning Will would stash a couple of ice beers in an insulated bag and take it, his composition tablet and FM radio to the pool where he'd write letters and more letters to the crowd from where he left while listening to Stern and immersing himself occasionally just to come down a notch from illusions of gran marnier. Most often he was the only person by the pool and his mind raced with the emotions like a guy who cracked the Rubic's cube code and was compelled to tell everyone he could think of how it is done. Jill often came home for lunch which consisted of zero calories and the need to redress as in clothes back on. Somehow Will found the incentive to jump in his Olds in the afternoons and check out the iconic town while gathering provisions and scratching off ToDo items. Holden Caulfield on a pension. WillJilina only with a prettier sweetheart. Who could script this without evoking cries from the audience that it sounds too good to be true? Too much of a good thing is rad, man.