He sat at the table with a glass of white wine. He spoke down to all who came before him. The black cloud pushed his children away into the yard by the picnic table were the barbeque burned and the grandchildren played. All seven of his children were there, only one, the last child really had no idea who her father was. Who we were. She only knows what her father is she never saw the man he use to be.  Six children pushed away and naive number seven was so busy she had to leave. The party had only begun.

He never left. He did not budge from his position. He drank and carried on, one person at the kitchen table was good enough . The wine flowed. The beer cold. The fire pit made of copper.

The end of the world was coming and the middle child was going to drive his motorcycle into a brick wall.

“Enough already….I’M Gonna leave here and do 90 into a BRICK WALL!”.

A few sighs from the women and ribbing from the men, the middle child left his masculinity behind on the table for his father to feed on.

“MY fucking kids they never listen.”

“That’s your uncle?” she asked me and I agreed.

“Yes that’s him. He’s the one”.

At that point my Uncle was on his own.

“He’s all yours if you want him?” I said to my girlfriend.

“He’s the one?” she said as if she didn’t understand.

“Yep, that’s him.”

She walked over to talk to him. Her charm on full, his knowledge endless as I walked out to kids screaming and the smoking barbeque. At least the smoke from the barbeque smelled like chicken. I wondered how long she could sit under his black cloud. After all the world was coming to an end and he knew why.

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