The Meadow 173 “I move cattle from where they were born and get fat, to where they get slaughtered—the whole circle of life thing.” Jim lifted his glass in a toast. “Live freight. Messy.” “It’s not so bad. They are amazingly cooperative, those animals.” “Is your son in the business?” Jim paused. “Nope. He’s in college. Berkeley.” There was an edge in his voice that he hadn’t meant. “Berkeley is a good school. Hard to get into. You must be proud.” “He’s studying the environment.” “What’s that?” Ed asked. “Good question.” Jim upended his whiskey into his open mouth and smacked his glass onto the bar. “You want another?” Jim motioned to Ed’s glass and Ed nodded. Jim flagged down the bartender and put in their order. “Turn on the Giants game while you’re over there,” Ed called after the bartender. “You a Giants fan?” Jim asked. “Yeah. The one thing I hate about this job is I can’t get to the games.” “Who’s your favorite player?” “Bumgarner. I miss Lincecum.” “The freak,” Jim said. The bartender set the drinks in front of Jim and he slid the beer toward Ed, who picked it up. After baseball, they talked football, then rest stops. “It’s hard to believe you’re the same age as my son. He and I have nothing in common. Do you get along with your father?” “I don’t know. My dad died of a massive coronary when I was nine and he was 39. My mom made me promise I wouldn’t smoke.” “Did you like your dad?” “I guess. From what I remember.” “What do you remember?” Jim asked.
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