Sure thing, Hitler

When this young gent with bad teeth approached me Saturday morning, I thought we were to have a nice chat. When he pulled out his phone to look up an English phrase, surely we were establishing some kind of trans-Pacific rapprochement, a meeting of the Occident and Orient, to be wrapped up with a handshake and promises of further dialogue.

Eventually, our paths would cross again, in Miami Beach, say. Now married with a slightly plump first child, he would interrogate me on the finer points of wagering on jai-alai, a game he found curiously rejuvenating in his middle age.

Some time later in an email, he kindly let me know that his second child, a daughter, proudly bore the middle name “Sluggh.” His gambling hobby had given him some fiscal breathing room, you see, and he reveled in the fact he no longer had to be polite to anyone.

“The bicycle,” he said, blinking in the morning sun. “You cannot ride your bicycle near the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall.”