My father fought in the Algerian war. When I look at the tiles in my bathroom, I always think of him. Whoever repaired those tiles couldn’t see the wood for the trees… or the tiles for the pattern. I wonder what he/she was thinking at the time. That’s my son, Dylan.
1 response so far ↓
Tom // July 31, 2009 at 10:08 pm |
That’s so sad.