and old batteries and takeout menus from the pizza place in Surf City.
He was face down. Under three menus and a phone book from 2009.
I picked him up and turned him over.
Nile squinted up at me with his level, just like always. There was a crack running across the corner of the glass that hadn’t been there before.
I held that photograph against my chest and leaned against the counter, and for a while I couldn’t breathe.
Someday this is going to be yours, buddy.
Then I
