"I guess so," Art said. "Sure."
"You don't sound so sure," Father Ferlenghetti said.
"Well, the *work* part's excellent. The politics are pretty ugly, though, to tell the truth."
"Ah. Well, we can't avoid politics, can we?"
"No, I guess we can't."
"Art, I've always known that you were a very smart young man, but being smart isn't the same as being happy. If you're very lucky, you'll get to be my age and you'll look back on your life and be glad you lived it."
Gran called him in for dinner before he could think of a reply. He settled down at the table and Gran handed him a pen.
"What's this for?" he asked.
"Sign the tablecloth," she said. "Write a little something and sign it and date it, nice and clear, please."
"Sign the tablecloth?"