Understanding

We were driving in the rain- on our way to pick up a few supplies before the night's play began.

We passed through the parking lot of a small shopping center. Suddenly, he stopped between two rows of cars. He sat stone still in the driver's seat, a look of abject horror on his face.

I looked where he was looking and saw the sign for a type of combination restaurant/ arcade famous and infamous among anyone who has ever been in-- or even near one.

"Tell me we're not going in there," said he. There was actual terror in his voice; this from the man who does not fear whips, or needles, or even raw fire.

I assured him we weren't.

He began telling horror stories of his encounters with various pitchfork wielding imps.

I waited for him to pause, then told him "I'm in charge of the toy deparment.

Surprise, then comprehension spread across his wonderfully expressive face.

"I don't have to tell you then," said he. "You know."

"Oh, yes."

He looked at me, and seemed we understood each other a bit better than we had a minute before.

We continued on.