papaw.

Old penny loafers.
Single leather tassels at the tongue.
Tan slacks.
A brown belt.
A thin plaid button up (short sleeve) [white & red]
An old beat up golf hat adorning a drooped head extending from hunched shoulders.
A tiny, wrinkled, gentle-eyed man. 
Thin silver hair.
Soft. 
Cassette tapes turn and violins float through the room. 
The chair rocks. 
The paper covers the corner of his toast.
He stirs his tea with his finger.
You ask to go for ice cream.
He turns the corners of his mouth toward those gentle eyes.
This is the height of luxury. 
This is the lightning someone ought to bottle.