Bergþór rolled up on his bike.
"Out for a little ride?" I said.
"Just airing out the soul," he said.
"Is that the best way to do it?"
"I like to go hike in the mountains, but it's hard to find time — you know, I've got my obligations."
He tapped the lamppost with his foot.
"I heard somewhere that each kid takes away 25% of your ego," he said.
"You've got two, right?"
"Yeah, two," he said.
"So you're like half a man."
"I've never thought about it like that. But I suppose I am in a way. But of course there are many good things, too."
"You know, I'm always amazed when I meet old men and women," I said. "No matter what they've done in their lives — if they're the heads of big companies, great artists, whatever — they always seem to say their proudest accomplishment is their kids. They always seem to say that. And it's crazy because for me, at my age, I just can't imagine it. But they all seem to say it, so there must be something to it."
"How old are you?" he said.
"30," I said.
"Me too," he said. "Well, I just turned 31 a few weeks ago."
"I'll be 31 in August," I said.
"1979?" he said.
He looked at the mountains.
"Well, I guess I better get back to them."
"Right, off you go."
"OK, see you later," he said, and he went away on the bike, almost the same as he came.