I missed him wearing his fat Eskimo jacket (which I hated considering it was totally out of fashion), shielding him from the cold. I felt my eyes getting moist as I thought of him lying alone in the cold grave, and my shear helplessness whimpered me.
His daughter’s face floated in front of his eyes. When he’d seen her last she’d clutched his hand, her little fingers unable to curl around his big palm. She told him that she believed in him.
As I sipped through, I noticed a dog, just skin and bones, sniffing around. It came nearer, and wagging its tail hard, stood looking at me.