A few Guinnesses later, Hector and I stand on the driveway gazing at the night sky as a military jet flies northbound from the sea and over our heads. We’re in the middle of a conversation. Hector’s been explaining something vaguely technical about aerospace-related topics.
Hector: “High altitude, low pressure.”
Me: “What exactly do you mean by low pressure?”
Hector: “Not a lot of pressure.”
Me: “I see.”