I met Klair on the swing set at Plummer Park.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” I smiled.
“How old are you?” she asked, shuffling her feet against the ground.
“27,” I said.
She looked at me with exclamation point eyes. “Why are you here?”
I told her about the zine convention I was attending and how I overestimated the time it would take to get there. We had time to kill, I explained. Then I pointed to Rama, who was lying face down on the hand ladder.
“You guys are being kids today, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Oh,” I said, “We’re kids every day.”