Yeah, so I remember the person by using them in a story. Like my Uncle Frank. He was a cool man. I miss him.

“Sammy, what are you doing?”

“Hey, Uncle Frank.”

I kiss both his cheeks. He smells like Brut cologne, something he wore when I was a child.

“Are you still in school?”

“Haha, no Uncle Frank. I finished a long time ago.”

“Do you still visit your mother?”

“Of course I do.”

He takes my hand and squeezes it.

“I remember everything, Uncle Frank. I’ll never forget you.”

“Thank you, Sammy. You’ve been a good nephew. Not always the most honest—”

“Hey, really?”

“Come on, Sammy. We always knew what you were.”

Uncle Frank lights a cigarette with a match. He heats the filter end with the match flame, then blows out the match. I can smell the sulphur. He purses his lips and pulls on the cigarette.

“Still smoking, eh?”

He smiles and shrugs. “It was my only vice.”

“That and a little poker.”

“I liked poker. I was never good but I liked it.”

“I still play.”

“That’s good, Sammy. Okay, it’s time for me to go.”

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Sammy. It’s okay over there. No worries.”

A car horn blares outside. I look up from my desk with tears in my eyes. I hate the world sometimes.