Under construction

"Let's take a walk," my son said.



"I know just where," I told him.



Down the street, up the gravel drive, to where the workers had left for the day.



"What do you think?" I asked him (as if the house under construction were mine to give).



"Like it," he said.  "Really like it."



"What would you do, if you lived here?"



"Parties." (He knew at once.)  "Dancing over there," he pointed.  "Kitchen over there.  Up there," he pointed again, "I'd lie back, watch some TV, relax.  And you?"



"I'd sit in the sun windows and read," I said.  "I'd stake out that room as my own."