Register today to continue reading
Slog always said his dad would come back one day. And, in the spring, he got his wish
Spring had come. I’d been running round all day with Slog and we were starving. We were crossing the square to Myers pork shop. Slog stopped dead in his tracks.
“What’s up?” I said.
He nodded across the square.
“Look,” he said.
“Look at what?”
“It’s me dad,” he whispered.
I just looked at him.
“That bloke there,” he said.
“What bloke where?
“Him on the bench. Him with the cap on. Him with the stick.”
I shielded my eyes from the sun with my hand…
We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to firstname.lastname@example.org