It was a fine salad, big and full of things that were good. The table was not particularly clean, but the light was good and my lunch went uninterrupted, mostly.
An uninterrupted lunch with a book is a good thing, and rare. The wine was cold and good. The backyard was quiet except for the saw Mr. Kamikaze was using to cut long pieces of lumber into lengths for making squares.
"This is going to be noisy," he said.
"What?" I said. But he could not hear me over the noise.
Later, I feigned interest in the squares, which had something to do with a wall he was building. Nothing much happened otherwise, which was fine and good as far as lunch, but is harder to appreciate in a book.
--Excerpted from my forthcoming summer travelogue, Some People's Idea of Fun Will Have the Teenagers Pulling Their Hair Out: Doing Hemingway Over Drinks in Little Cafes