The Sweat of the Brow (xi)

“Ben,” I say, and stop.

He looked up at me. He sees my face. He blinks, twice, then shuts his eyes. He pours himself a fresh drink and sips it straight down. Pours another one, puts it on the table, and looks at me.

He knows what I’m going to say.

I pick up his drink and drink it down. Pat him on the shoulder, and go home.

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~ by davekov on 5 October 2011.

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