Bruce
Two days later, he walked into my hospital room. I didn’t know how old Malone was, but he seemed like he had lived through many great periods in the world—The Great Depression, World War I, World War II. Heck, the man might have even been alive when Napoleon Bonaparte was wrecking havoc across Europe. But what was I to say? The man still looked as though he hadn’t aged past 50, with his wrinkles only gathered around his lips and crow's feet by his dark brown eyes that always seemed to look right through me.
Maloney glanced around my room, his eyes settling on my daughter seated in the corner, curled up into a ball on the couch, her eyes closed.
“She grows up quickly,” he said in his somehow indiscernible, generally European accent.
“Yes, she does,” I replied, looking at her and
