An overweight, prosperous-looking man in his late 60’s lumbers into Brick’s Army and Navy store. He has a huge cigar in his mouth. He’s followed by a young woman with a steno pad.

The clerk looks up. He’s also young, a bit chubby, and wears thick glasses. He pushes them up on the bridge of his nose.

The man approaches the counter. “I’m looking for a…” he turns to the woman.

“…a pup tent, Mr. Clements.”

Then back to the clerk, “A pup tent… my secretary, Miss Dibble,” he indicates the woman, who’s quite voluptuous.

“We have those,” the clerk says.

“It’s for my grandson. He’s going to camp. I don’t know much about camps, but he needs a pup tent. What’s a pup tent, young fellow?”

“A small tent for one or two people.”

 “Write that down, honey,” she does. “What’s he supposed to do in a pup tent?”

“Do?” The clerk adjusts his glasses again.

“You don’t hear?”

“Well… sleep, read.”

“Fine. Can he take a whiz in there?”

“No... not really. In the woods, or, sometimes the camp has a special place set aside for whizzing.” The clerk looks edgy.

“In the woods, ehh?” Clements seems to be giving it some thought.

Miss Dibble scribbles a quick note.

“What else can he do in there, young man?”

“Could you put that cigar out, sir?” The clerk coughs.

“Sorry,” Clements hands the cigar to Miss Dibble who leaves the store with it.

“Well, he can…”

“Hold on a second,” says Clements.

Miss Dibble returns minus cigar, notepad still in hand.

“Okay son, continue.”

“He can play cards, eat candy or hamburgers. Write letters.”

“Post cards?”

“Post cards are great. Perfect. He can clean his rifle.”

“Rifle? He’s eight years old.”

“His shoes, then.”

“And?”

“Fold paper planes, knit” the clerk’s becoming quite agitated, “play checkers with his tentmate.”

“Tentmate? There’s someone else in there?”

“I don’t know, sir, sometimes… in a camp.”

 “Yes… well… whatever, I’ll take one.” Clements looks at Miss Dibble. She checks off - pup tents.

He turns back to the clerk, “Do you have any... canteens?”