Competitive Intelligence

My old man says that you shouldn't burden today's joys with tomorrow's sorrows.

"I have a competitive intelligence folder," he says, breezily, as we wait to be served.

"Oh, God. Show me."

It's less sinister than it sounds. Photos of pretty gardens, from across the village.

The food arrives. It's his choice, of course, and it's lousy.

"Shouldn't eat that," he says, reaching for the salt. "Cholesterol's a killer."

There's the old man, alright. Do as I say, not as I do.

His world's shrunk as he's aged. That's normal, I guess. Happens to all of us at some point.