How dark Was My Valley - Lew Watts
The faces are black and downcast, but to me he’s unmistakable—the lamp slung over the left shoulder, the slight drag of the right foot. I wave as he walks through the gates, and he smiles before lighting up. He ruffles my hair, and the scent of a shift-full of sweat lifts from his clothes. “They found your mother yet?” he asks.
dad clears his voice
down the sink