Oliver walked up Congress Street. He saw a rack of postcards in an art supplies store window. I ought to send Muni a card, he thought. There weren't any that he liked, however. Maybe at the Museum. Christmas decorations were already appearing. It was going to be a busy holiday.
Arlen was collecting his mail when Oliver arrived home.
"Hey, Arlen, how are you?"
"Just fine, Oliver."
"Developments, Arlen!"
"I noticed—with a Volvo."
"Jennifer. We must get together soon. She's great. She's going to have a baby. We're going to have a baby."
"Congratulations! I'm happy for you, Oliver. Developments downstairs, as well."
"I wondered," Oliver said.
"Porter," Arlen said simply.