I painted the boat with great focus, one stroke after another, when I heard someone behind me. I turned to see a three-foot tall towhead, covered in buckshot freckles, holding a bag of Doritos.
“Hi Riley,” I said.
“Hey, can I sail in your boat when it’s done?” Riley asked, watching me with a slack jaw.
“Hmm,” I said. “That depends.”
“On what?” he touched the wet paint leaving a little handprint in it.
“It depends on if I can have some of your chips,” I nodded toward the bag of Doritos in his hand. “Mister Sean’s a little famished.”
He shrugged his shoulders and handed the chips to me. I reached into the bag, took a handful, and shoved them into my mouth. They tasted moist and soggy.
He covered his mouth and started giggling.
“What?” I said with a mouthful. “What are you laughing at?”
“Your dog, Ellie Mae, she’s been eating out of that bag, she gots her drool all in it.”