I watched a young dad, harried no doubt. He rushed with a pace that made it difficult for the little ones to keep up. His gait, twice the pace of theirs. Their arms, short. Their hands, small. Twins, I suspected, about four, I suppose. And as that harried young dad hurried along, he held their hands tight in own own, as they tried to keep up with his urgent, dad- step.

They spoke to him as they rushed. But he could not hear. His obvious and nervous ‘hurry up’ had little time for entertaining small talk from small ones. Too bad, though.

Some of the best conversations I’ve never had …

I missed, because I was walking too fast to hear.