Ming is heating up some breakfast and peeling a sumo fruit to eat. I like the way he keeps going.
“Do you know sand smells?” I asked Ming.
“Do I know how sand stones?”
“Do you know how sand smells?” I asked again, enunciating.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Does it smell that way just in California, do you think?”
“No, everywhere,” he said.
“Even in Germany?” I asked.
“Rocks have different smells,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe sand is made of different rocks, over there,” I said.