company was payment enough. Eventually, he stopped asking, and the transactional nature of our meeting faded away, replaced by a genuine, deep-seated friendship that transcended the fifty-year age gap between us.
Our Sundays followed a predictable, comforting pattern. I would carry the bags into his kitchen, and we would settle into our respective chairs. Some weeks, he was a fountain of wisdom, recounting vivid stories from his youth, his time in the service, and the love he had lost. He spoke of a world that no longer existed, painting pictures
