My boy needs to shop for summer camp clothes, and he and his friend have insisted we go to the outlet mall. I draw the short straw. As soon as they head for Under Armor, I veer toward the beer and wine shop. There’s a new N.E. style IPA, small batch—“only thirty cases put out, and we got five,” the behind-the-counter guy brags. I'll have one of those, thank you very much.
An older gentleman comes in and asks about the beer selection. “What do you like to drink? “Bud and Heineken.” A long pause.
I am not sure how, but now we’re talking about “soda” vs “pop.” I grew up “pop, pop, pop,” one lady says. "In Georgia its 'coke,'" an older guy says from the corner. “You say, ‘I’ll have a coke,' they say ‘What kind?’ and you say ‘A Sprite.’”
There are shots of honey mead for $2. The World Cup sign holds within it a sly joke. Counter Guy is bummed Mexico lost to Brazil. And when the guy in the corner gets up to leave, he says to no one in particular: “By the time I get home, the goats have better been cleared from the road.”
Now the boys are heading to Vineyard Vines. I make it to the food court and sit down in time to watch Japan score two quick goals. But then Avery texts: He needs me to pay for clothes at Nike. Finally, we drive back home. Denmark has somehow won 3–2, scoring improbably in the last minute. The boys head upstairs to play Fortnight. The dog joins me on the bed for a nap.