I like his salt and pepper hair and his voice. He makes me want to slowly go gray, smoke a pack a day and wear white track pants. He's not old but his daughter treats him like he's forgotten everything, including the really important things.

"Diana," He says from behind her, inspecting her walk the way you would produce at a supermarket, "We need to do something about those legs."
"Dad, I've always been bow-legged."

She steps off the curb, moves towards the driver's side of a crookedly parked white sedan.

"Who parked my car like this?" He says because he really doesn't know.
"Dad, you did..."