5.30.2012

151 of 365

He could still see them sitting in the living room, his father on the couch, clean-shaven with his coffee cup in hand and his eyes glued to the morning news; his mother wrapped in a bathrobe sitting nearby in the armchair, devouring the paper, a stack of books on the side table, eager to take the newspaper's place. He heard the reporter speak of it first, and then his father's commentary. Yet his mother sat quietly contemplating them both.

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