You ever look in your rear view mirror and see someone standing there with their mouth all in a little "o" and their eyes full of "what-the-frig" and a melting ice cream cone you just bought them dripping down their hand and onto their sneaker? No? Then you're not my dad.
Lucky me; I can move on to the next stranger of a certain age and wonder if that's him. Or maybe it's the guy who tried to hustle me into that alley that one time I was walking home too late. He had eyes that looked familiar. You know, never mind, because even if you'd answered "yes" the my first question, you're probably not him. He wasn't the kind of guy who'd bother looking back.
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