It’s lunch time. I slap together a cheese and Vegemite sandwich. He selects two slices of bread from the loaf, places them on a plate. The loaf gently twists in his fingers as he applies the clasp.
He butters the bread evenly then sprinkles hundreds and thousands on top, slices the bread into triangles and falls into the recliner.I hear his mouth crackle and pop with each bite; each triangle cradled in his two hands.
I toss my empty plate in the sink and rub my hands on my jeans.
“Pop, hope I’m like you when I’m your age”.