As I waited at a stoplight, I saw a man in his eighties walking down the sidewalk. He seemed to be struggling in the heat. He turned and sat down hard on the edge of a planter. I pulled over and rolled down the window.
"Hi! Are you doing okay?"
"Not really. My car broke down back by the school. I'm so hot and sweating so much, I don't think I'm going to make it home."
"Can I give you a ride?" He eased into the passenger seat and turned his ear with the hearing aid towards me.
"Thanks, I don't live far. My name's Bob."
"I'm Lisa. My son's name is Bob."
"He must be a good kid."
"He is." In our short drive, I learned that Bob's son lives on our old street, and works at Trader Joe's. Bob graduated from high school where my Bob will attend. I learned about the history of the school's district's zoning and that all of Bob's neighbors on his cul-de-sac are selling their houses "for a bundle" and moving into retirement homes. I dropped Bob off in front of the house he's lived in for thirty-eight-years.
"Nice to meet you, Bob. Be sure and drink a lot of water when you get in."
"Oh, I will. And I think I'll add a little scotch to it."