"You know why he yells at his kids like that?" I said. "His wife is in control. She beats him at night when the kids are asleep."
"Damn, that's good. Let me try one."
A mother, father and daughter walk by. The father wears a collared white shirt. He looks like an accountant, miserable and wanting to be somewhere else.
"Pedophile," Leo whispered, cracking up.
"Leo, you have to be more subtle than that," I said, thinking your girlfriend eats monkeys. "Try again."
"Husband is a very sad man. He goes bowling at night. Hates his wife. She's seeing a senior at her daughter's high school. The best part of his week is the PTA meeting, because he likes the high-school girls in the hallway. But he doesn't know about his wife, because he works late."
"Very good. Another beer?" I say. You're girlfriend eats monkeys. We did this for a while. I was thinking of the luxury of being a solo-traveler, to imagine and take note of the landscape, and its characters.
Another family walks by, heads down. The daughter, young, gawky, clothes too big-fitting, says with a speech impediment, "Mom, dad, I'm going to run ahead to the visitor center. See you there." Leo wanted to comment, but I caught him off guard, "future writer."
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