Tell me about being a grown-up

You finally built it, I see. It's taller than I expected.

You wring your hands and press them against the sandstone. It feels warm.

Are you satisfied?

It's surrounded by a wrought iron black fence and brown dry grass (which matches the sandstone) and spots of green and taller weeds. It looks bright against the other glassy gray buildings.

You seem disappointed.

Why don't you walk down to the bridge and come back. It looks better against the sky from there.

Boots crunch leaves and cement. Walking towards the river (full of boats and white hats and brown ducks) the lady you always see walking across the bridge at this time with pink and black splattered sunglasses hikes up her skirt and scuttles past you.

You walk back.

See, now isn't that better?
You did all of that on your own.

Let me buy you a beer. Or better yet, I will buy you flowers. Pretty flowers that look like white and yellow fireworks that have little crooks at the end of the petals that you can hook your finger under.

That will help. It always helps me.