Joking with Father

“Any news?”

“The usual,” Whitey replies, looking up from his Sunday Post-Intelligencer.

“And the unusual?”

“Now and then. Keeps me coming back.” Fresh flattop haircut. White sidewalls.

“Uh, were you and Mom going anywhere?”

“Today?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The car?”

“Yup.”

“How long?” He holds his safety-shielded shipyard reading glasses in

his right hand.

“Couple hours.”

“Three o’clock?”

“No later than. Sooner, probably.”

“No smooching while driving?” Whitey asks, stretching his legs,

reaching for his pocket.

“Probably none at all.”

“Why go then?” Whitey smiles, tosses the keys.

“To find out.”

“Keeps you coming back?”

“Has so far.”

“Don’t speed.”

“That’s what she said.”