The iron age, pt. II

I have my chin resting over my hands with my elbows lying on the window ledge on a warm Sunday evening and I’m sort of looking at the swimming pool in the building just across the street and there’s this young father, I figure about my age, playing with his son who’s around five or six and all of a sudden it hits me like some brickwall coming over at lightspeed:

“God,” I’m thinking, "I should get myself one of those Playstati*n things.”