|Copyright: Rochelle Wisofff-Fields|
Lighting his old briarwood pipe, Lester leaned back and savored the harsh smoke for a few puffs, before setting it aside and sipping at the harsh brew he liked to think of as coffee.
He briefly frowned, knowing both the pipe and the coffee were things Estelle would never have allowed him….but she was gone. All he had left were the silly knick-knacks he’d so often accused her of “cluttering” their home with.
This story was written for the weekly Friday Fictioneers flash fiction photo prompt.