For now, though, we both sat on the couch as he fiddled with the remote. He rested his calloused, tough hand on my knee, trying to turn on Netflix. In the silence that ensued, I looked around the room, taking in the décor.
There were many, many, many photos of him and his father. I think I saw more photos of his father around than I had seen of his actual father at Brewskis. The photos spanned the gamut from when his father was young, holding him as just a baby, to what looked like a photo taken just days before he died.
“Is it tough, looking at all of this?”
The words came out before I had the chance to think about them.
“All of what?” Phoenix said cautiously.
“The pictures of your father.”
He sighed. He looked so… aged.
“What’s wrong?”
