I curled up in the old man’s recliner, cracking open one of the dusty hardcovers from his bookshelf.
I couldn’t wait to dive in – one of the many literary classics available.
But then the itching began. First the back of my neck. Then my forearms. Soon it felt like my entire torso was aflame.
As I ripped off his faded flannel and tossed it to the floor, I couldn’t help but laugh. Itching powder, one of his favorite pranks.
He had passed over a month ago, but his freewheeling spirit remained.
Grandpa Joe, a jokester to the end and beyond.
The Weekday One Hundred 