We went for a walk with Grandpa around his neighbourhood. Rounding the lake, we came upon a private security guard.

“You can’t come down this road,” he said. “It’s private.”

“We’ve walked down it a thousand times,” I said. “How long have you been here?”

“Twenty years,” he said. “They pay for their own snowplows. If I let you walk down here you might get injured and sue them.”

“Do you have a gun?” said Grandpa.

I hope I still possess dry wit at ninety.