I watched him for awhile, couple of minutes I think.

And I’m pretty sure he knew I was there… he had to.

He never let on thought, just sat there smoking.

Like always… on the nights he couldn’t sleep and on the ones where he never even bothered to get into bed.

I think I understand a lot better now why he was always pissed off.

So he sat there with cigar in hand; tapping out the ashes on the nice green lawn that had yet to see a bad day, what with all it’s Miracle Grow.

I used to sit a few yards away; watching, until he’d tilt his head back and blow smoke out into the night air.

That was our signal… we’d never established it as such, but we both understood it’s meaning.

He wouldn’t talk until he was ready and I wouldn’t push him.

Usually, while I waited, I’d wonder what he was thinking about.

That night I didn’t have to…

And he never gave me the signal.