Where it all began
Seeing
the bench, for the first time in years, I was disgusted at the state
of it. The paint had almost all worn away, some of the slats were
warped, there was grafitti written all over it and it was covered in
bird shit.
Putting
the bag I was carrying on the floor I opened it up, removed a few of
the items and went to work, painstakingly restoring it to what it'd
looked like the first time I had ever met the woman I had spent the
last twenty years calling my wife, and the woman who'd passed away
less than a week earlier.
©JSMorbius
