Father is figuring out how to sharp the knives

from YouTube, satisfying a long-held ambition.

It has overwhelmed him;

this is the first time he's searched there for anything.

Later he will indicate me

exactly what number of layers of skin

he can pare from a cherry tomato.

I find footling activities with my hands;

he answered to my question, yes he's alright,

and courteously declined my recommendation

of whisky, so this is everything I can offer.

The shadow of the shadow on my father's

father's lung isn't said resoundingly in light of the fact that

breathing says everything for us. He has

an old oil stone somewhere. He is absolutely consumed.