Chapter Seventy-Three

Hate is never a friendly word…

*****

Picking up the towel, he saw the bread that was kept close to the folded bed chair his father has been using to sleep and though he knew his father probably wanted to have it for dinner, for a mischievous reason and because Tom has been thinking of what to have for dinner, he took it before moving back slowly to go back the bedroom nobody had been occupying for a while.

It seemed his father preferred to spend his whole day in the living room, either sleeping or listening to the tiny radio he always kept beside his head.

Filled with anger and hatred every time he set eyes on his father, Tom knew it was just a matter of time before he would serve the man what was coming to him.

‘Breakfast is a national cake; it must touch everybody at one point in life. And so is death! It had touched his mother at her prime through his father, soon, that same death would touch his fath