Graham looked up over his shoulder. Pogo stood beside where he sat on one of the battered sofas of their break room. He saw the older man’s face fill with concern. He dropped his head and looked away. “I’m a’ight. Just got a cold,” he lied as he felt his nose run. He sniffed and swiped at it with the back of his hand. When the older man didn’t move, Graham looked up at him in question. Pogo walked over to the door but he did not walk through it. Instead, he closed it and came over to sit down on the sofa next to Graham. “Let me talk to you, son,” he said, reaching over to pat his fist against Graham’s knee. Graham laughed. “Yo, Pogo. I don’t get down like that,” he joked, hoping to lighten the mood because he could already see the serious light in the other man’s eyes. “I’ve seen and done a lot in my sixty-five years,” he said with a sad smile. “A lot of shit I wish hindsight could change.” Graham sniffed again and swallowed, fighting the urge to wipe his runny nose again.
