” “You are, too, for an even older guy.” We left for breakfast. “You gonna do it?” I wanted to know. “You’ve...given me some things to think about. I don’tknow, and I don’t want to talk about it now, OK?” You won’t be surprised to learn I spent a good part ofthat Saturday and Sunday fantasizing. Sunday night: the weekend was over. Bedtime. We cuddled as we usually do. “Uh, Bruce?” “Yeah?” “Are you. We left the city at eight a.m., stopped just before we got to the dirt road for a snack and reached the lake site around noon. During the ride, Mr. O was his usual self, conversing calmly without getting into details and mainly discussing about me getting into college and my career choice. He was an accountant in charge of the Finance Office at City Hall. One thing he added though was that, since we were to spend the weekend together, I should call him Bernie and not Mr O. What they called the. More

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