Older Man - Prison sentence

The stolid figure was a fixture in the room. He appeared to belong in the space much like the tarnished brass lamp on the wooden end table next to him. He slumped in the chair, molded to the cushions. His large, heavy eyelids were closed, perhaps never to open again. His skin was thin and aged. The veins in his hands were like road maps showing paths he had taken throughout his life. His brown flannel shirt hung loose on his frame. The frayed pocket held a single tissue which moved in and out with his short whispy breaths, showing brief signs of life. His hands clasped over the top of a cheap wooden cane which was scarred and chipped. It's black rubber foot was cracked and worn.

He had been waiting for awhile now. I was unsure how to approach him. I stood in the hallway and stared for awhile considering my options. I knew I had to share the information that I obtained from the court proceedings. They said that his thoughts were still coherent. He would understand what I had to say. I just wasn't sure how he would react.