We talked.

Someone told a long story about a flat tire that got funnier the longer it went.

The children at the end of the table built a fort out of breadsticks.

His father told the one about the fishing trip, the one we had all heard, and we let him tell it, because letting a man tell his favorite story is a small free kindness and I had plenty of those to spare now that I was no longer spending everything else.

And then the check came.