"Oh," said the man. His tone, as his word choice, was vapid as life, to him, was vapid. The thought of age slowly gnawing on him while he engaged in life unawares made him want to evade conversation and entomb himself with youth in the movement on a screen in a dark room.
"Let's go in if we can. I've got the tickets already. You sure you can get into something R-rated this way?"
"I've done it before. Here: I bought you a gift." He took them from his underwear.
"Ah…Children's sunglasses with a ninety nine cent price tag on them. You shouldn't have." He sniffed them. "Although I do love the smell."
The boy gave a full hearty laugh.
"Do you always keep things in there like that?" He was careful about his words and glanced around the sidewalk. The boy did not understand him and said nothing. "What do I do with these things?"
"Give them to your son."
"I don't have one."
"When you have one"
"I won't have one," he mumbled evasively. He opened the door and they went in.