"Where are the slides and sandboxes?" he asked, looking around.
"What slides and sandboxes?" she said.
"This is a park, isn't it? That's what the sign says."
"It's a park for cars," she said, frowning at him.
"Why?" he asked. "Cars don't play."
"It's not that kind of a park. It's where people put their cars when they aren't using them."
"You mean this is a garage?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then why do you cal it a park?"
"The sign just means you can park your car here when you aren't driving it."
"So, no slides."
"No," she said. "None at all."
"You Americans need to do better with your words."
"American's know what the words mean," she said.
"So, I guess I'll take my daughter somewhere else."
"That's a great idea."
"Why does the word park mean so many different things?"
"No idea," she said, honestly. "And it's kind of late to be going to any kind of park."
He looked at the sky, then at the child asleep in his arms. "I think you're right. I probably should go back to our hotel. Have a nice night."
"You too," she said, picturing cars playing together in a huge sandbox. She smiled, then went back to work.
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