Ohhh sorry.

I loved the Plague. It's been years since I read it but I remember him standing at a balcony or window looking onto world with utter despair. It shaped my love of Apocalypses, hah!

Who would have thought a tiny orange speck could undo me. On the last conversation I had with Dad, which was perfect but never enough and often thought about, he was eating blueberry and strawberry - just a couple. He slid the bowl toward me in the long tradition of fatherly affection shown through the offering of food, though he was a day or two off dying then. All his being was Father in that moment. The shared laugh as he dropped a berry on his lap. Asking me how the surf was. Saying he was good, when he wasn't.

The speck of mandarin was the last remnant of all that.