His face was hard-set, the wrinkles etched in like carvings on a stone, conveying no emotion. Emotion was something he threw away a long time ago. Grayed, thinning hair was combed over to the side atop his balding head. He wore glasses too, an old pair of black, horn-rimmed frames, sitting bent on his large, crooked nose. From behind those pieces of glass, a pair of gray eyes stared into nothing. They had been blue, once – full of life and joy and spirit – but the long, hard years had dulled them, extinguishing the light that once twinkled there.
I had a dream last night. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was driving to church with the windows down. It was nice and bright outside, the trees all a-blossomin’ and smellin’ sweet; but nothin’ sweeter than her sweet perfume.