The man came back home from a day’s work and he saw his father,
sitting on his favorite chair… gazing aimlessly towards the road…
a glass of wild liquor in his hand.
It’s nothing new for him, he has always seen his father being drunk and just throwing words in scattered way,
mother is all gone just dissolved in their routine obscurity.
It’s just the two of them now.
He kind of like alcoholics now… there’s a strange majesty in them,
the real kind…the warriors kind.
All the garbages, all the inappropriate swearings from his father never really made him that more uncomfortable than people whispering classy nonsenses did.
People need people to get lost into their own little spaces…
He had just his father for that.
They don’t talk that much now…just the usual stuff and quite drinking and smoking and looking together at their blank streams,
it’s actually funny that even in their deathbeds people still try to grab as much future as they can…
These two skinny hummingbirds do the same.
The evening was falling into the lap of their tired body,
one back from pretentious work and one working hard to get rid of any masterful pretentions.
As the father was going passed the man he stopped and looked towards his son…
‘ you can never be the quarter of mine even in your wildest dreams.’
A rattling figure went into the four walls…
Well he smiled cause surely his father knows how to kick in the ass of flattering exchanges of hollowness.

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Photograph: Google Images.