'You're a professor, aren't you,' she said confidently as she sat there with husband and son in the bar.
'O no no no no no,' I assured her, 'just outstandingly near-sighted.'
They were in town for a wedding, had surveyed the used book store nextdoor, were nursing coffee and soft-fruit tarts till it was time for Captain Fantastic at the neighbourhood cinema.
'According to the reviews,' said the twenty-something, 'it's the story of my life.' For Dad most assuredly is a professor, in Chicago.
'Lucky lad,' I thought to myself. Minus, of course, the rock climbing.--Giac
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