Old Spice and Cigarette Scented

At last Dad came home, while we were in school, and that evening we were each allowed a few minutes in his room.

Purple.

A face turned purple.

Mottled and bubbled and lumpen, one eye closed like a boxer’s.

An ogre, a brute, a fairytale monster.

Underneath was my Dad.

Still strong, with hard hands, and black, wavy hair. Continue reading “Old Spice and Cigarette Scented”