He said it was his mothers 90^th birthday, that he grew up on the other side of the river 50 years ago. And wanted to cruise the main drag again. He would take a nap 1^st he said, then on to Wal-Mart for the cake, Mom always liked white frosting bestest he said. He asked if there was anything he should know. Not that I know of, I said. He stood there for a while longer so I said, don’t eat too many cookies I guess. His daughters walked by then and he turned, telling them no more than 2 cookies each tonight. One of his daughters looked indifferent, brazen, put-out that her father would say such a thing, let alone tell her how many cookies to eat, not to eat. Almost subtle in her anger was her hair – chemical red, the kind of red that smolders - festers, before igniting. It was a wig, I couldn’t decide. His other daughter molded into background scenery.