this morning #174.

this morning, the late fall air sweeping through the cemetery had a bone-chilling effect on his ability to properly pay his respects. his thin coat could not protect him from his cold relationship with his feelings. as he walked the path that led to his parents’ weathered graves, he paused for a few seconds & pulled up his scarf. in his left hand, he held a fitting chrysanthemum bouquet for his mom. the hyacinths in his right hand were for his dad, who’d never cared much for flowers. he didn’t want him to feel left out though & he wasn’t about to lean a bud light against his headstone. he’d say a little prayer, ramble on for ten minutes, run out of things to say & then run out the day at the bar.