Lunch went slow. It was like the plodding progress of the minute hand in high school in the hour before release. His parents were nice, talkative, but boring. He listened to the rest of the family and

Ian dangled his fingers into Kayla's dress fabric as she whisked away with a breeze and like he was walking in a wheat field letting the tips tickle his tips. He was exhausted, satisfied, and refreshed

Ian didn't mind the hard press of the tight weave carpet old with time and use under his knees. He didn't mind the awkward lean he was doing on to get low enough on the child size table where Kayla was

Ian shuffled back and forth on his feet; they felt cramped in the dress shoes he only wore on special occasions. He just couldn't get comfortable standing on those plasticy fake leather coffins. It didn't