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Show 209 "I mean does he seem old?" "Grampa's always seemed old. He is old," Sean said. "What I mean is . . ." "You said i seemed old - when I got off the plane." "Good point," Hunt said, reaching over, squeezing his son on the shoulder; "Good point." "Maybe you're used to seeing people stay the same in paintings," Sean said. They caught two "limits." Sean caught nine trout; Hunt caught three. Walking back to the car they talked about automobile airbags and legalization of marijuanna. Sean asked Hunt if he'd read much William Blake and announced he'd met another girl from Iowa. "What is this Iowa thing?" Hunt asked. "It's good," Sean said. Hunt laughed. Sean was off and running toward a Future. There were no messages at the lodge from Leah; Hunt really didn't expect any, though one would have been nice. Over lunch, Hunt's father announced: "I kept trying to read a short story in Esquire Magazine, but kept falling asleep. Why are all the writers only writing about televisions and airports?" "We've lost the verities," Hunt said. He smiled. "Televisions and airports . . . televisions and airports," his father repeated, and he stared out into a space which Hunt could only imagine. |