Tolo, govano ven. Le nathlam hí.
The old man sat outside, whiskey in hand. Thoughts drifting to memories. That time, those stories, that other time, those other stories. He smiles. Memories of when whiskey wasn't trendy. Memories of a time when memories were only told through memories. His smile widens. Ah yes, memories of memories.
Coppywriting 2022 @ FatherOfAlways