We’re in the city and my wife and I are talking about the logistics of our next trip to the coast, to our pine tree paradise. It is a four-hour drive and can get exhausting.
My seven-year-old daughter interrupts us.
“I have an idea,” she tells us. “We’ll build a bridge. And it’ll have one of those walkways, you know, the fast ones like at the airport. The ones that are flat. And it will go from our apartment to the beach. Roof to roof. It will be very, very fast. And that way we can live in both places at the same time. We won’t have to drive there and back anymore, so the trip won’t be so tiring. We’ll just get on the walkway and just like that we’ll be in Pinamar,” she says, trying to snap her fingers.
“Let’s think some more,” I say. “You’re on to something.”