SNAPSHOT #02

I waited five minutes at his door, squinting at the sun, and listening to him shuffling inside. When he answered he was dressed in a jacket, shirt, and slacks. He had a smile for me and I followed him through his shadow-draped house to the kitchen, my steps tight and small behind his careful, walking-stick-assisted gait. I cleared a space on his cluttered table and he sat opposite me, sighing out his weariness from the trek.

I asked about old times and his face lost years as he told me. Eventually, his words wound down, and he said:

“I made pizza for twenty-seven years. But the stroke put an end to everything.”

He clutched his cane, a heave puffing from his chest as he stood and hobbled to the sink. He filled a glass, his eyes on the swirl of water.

“But we keep going.”

Advertisements

2 comments

  1. Poppy Pete · April 10, 2014

    I like him already … would like to make a pizza with him … and learn!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s