Memory of a Man on a Sunday Afternoon

[vc_row][vc_column][title type="subtitle-h6"]Isaac Ama[/title][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width="11/12"][vc_column_text]It was the slow drip of morning coffeeand the sting of evening scotch.The yellowed teethand yellowed fingersand the smell that stayed in his clothes.[spacer height="20"]It was how long the ash could getbefore it fell from the tip of his cigarette.Turkish Royals and Maxwell House;his five a.m. alarm and a rest in his reclinerwith today’s copy of The Wall Street Journal.[spacer height="20"]It was the paper and the coffee.It was the cigarette and the nap.It was the smell of a morning fire.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]