We drove to Pecan Bottoms, a stretch of Cameron Park near the river and close to the old Punk Fields where local garage bands would play when I was still in school. He stepped out of the Jeep and walked around to the back. He pulled out a canvas grocery sack that had a heavy sag in the middle and a small cooler. Then he came over and offered silently to help me get down from my seat. I accepted, taking his proffered hand as I used it to steady myself as I jumped down. John then walked up to the concrete table closest to the road and sat on it, his feet on the bench. I followed closely and sat near him, the rough concrete cold under me.
I waited patiently as he pulled out a couple of glasses from the bag and offered me one. I took it. It was a sturdy glass tumbler, instead of a plastic par
