I rode by the guardhouse on the Beach trail and saw a busty girl, dressed in a bikini and cape, slouching against the wall in that pre-runway downtime before a photo shoot. “Nice look,” I muttered. Then I thought this was too good to pass up, and circled back.
Down the path, two guys were seated on a lakeview bench, one of them holding a few sheets of paper. It took a short distance to realize the other guy was Mr. HUGH DILLON. Though his bald head was covered in a cable-knit toque, his pale blue eyes were so arresting they stopped me, as my wet brake pads announced. I circled back.
“You’re Hugh Dillon,” I told him. I think he grunted. “I watch all your movies.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“I was surprised when you married a woman.” The other guy twitched his papers.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I was surprised when you married a woman,” I replied, riding off.