"The face. Suit, tie, hat. That's the one," he mumbled, finger barely pointing. His head bent over the kitchen table like a tired wire fence. The afternoon sun stretched his shadow across the wooden surface.
She removed the photo. "You have friends? Family?"
His eyebrows smiled. "The best of the best."
"Are they nearby?"
He threw a thumb behind his shoulder and then refolded his hands. "East Coast. They're miles away."
After a moment, she remembered the black envelope. "Before he died, he told me you didn't deserve this." She put it on the table. "But trust me, you do."
Like that description of his head bent over like a tired wire fence. An intriguing closer too!
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