The Wisdom of the Ages
They sat in the quiet, the old man and his son.
They stared at the flickering white screen like they were frozen in time. The room around them was dark but for the gleam of the movie they were watching.
The old man moved, restless. His shuffling distracted the boy from the TV, an unusual event in itself.
The boy looked at his father. The greying stubble shone like frost and his washed-out blue eyes blinked often. His son recognised that was his father feeling nervous; he was about to say something. The repeated clearing of his throat suggested it was a profound thought.
“I guess I owe you something,” he said. The words evaporated into the dark. “Some advice.”
The boy shifted on his side of the sofa. He looked at the old man, waiting.
“Yes?” he said. The expectation in his voice was so tangible it became a third person in the room.
His father shuffled in his seat, blinking again.
One last clear of his throat and he was ready.
“Always take your beer cold and your pizza hot,” he said.
The son slumped back, deflated.
“Is that it?”
His father shrugged; it was all he had.
