I stayed in the little room and it rained again and the sound on the tin roof brought it all back, but it wasn't as painful as I might have expected. More wistful. The foosball table was out, too, and the Tesla album lay near the stereo.
After dinner last night, walking with mom on Orchard, shopkeeper jumps out of his shop: SHOPKEEPER: Ethan, I thought that was you! I just wanted to thank you so much for the review last week.
ETHAN: Oh, of course, my pleasure. See, mom, he liked the review. She hated it.
SHOPKEEPER: Oh yes, I showed it to my sister, my mom, they were so proud!
ETHAN: See that, mom, he has a supportive family.
MOM to SHOPKEEPER: When you were a child, did your mother let you win at Candyland?
SHOPKEEPER: Well, my mother wasn’t really into games. But if we’d played them, yes, she would have let us win.
ETHAN: See. That’s why he’s well-adjusted.
Now I can see the regret freezing on the shopkeeper’s face, regret that he’s come out onto the street to give a personal and thoughtful thank-you, only to be sucked in to some ancient family conversation that exists only to make others feel awkward and uncomfortable.
