Made You Look

The way the sleeping kid in the Pooh-bear stroller is trussed in, the straps pushing his hips forward and wrapping over his shoulders, then fastening at the waist, he looks a little like a WWII pilot belted into his parachute. His father, young, tired, five-o'clock shadow well on its way toward midnight, reaches his gym-jacked arms up and holds the subway pole, while kicking his leg back to rest against the car wall, stretching his already tight jeans even closer to the breaking point.

Katie raises an eyebrow, says quietly, "Definite similarity between father and son packages."

"Oh," I say, low enough so only she can hear, "thanks for making me check out their junk."