G. A. Scheinoha
"To pain and eventual triumph over the same." Helluva toast, but then what did he have to gain – or lose? He was dying. You could read it there in his eyes; eaten up from the inside out. Though loss never crossed those lips. The clink of glasses was a nerve jarring distraction. Several greedy, numbing gulps later, you left so he could finish what birth begins.
into the night