i exhale and try to relax my clenched stomach. i open the front door to the building and walk down the corridor. past bathrooms with neon blue lights. past rooms with doors ajar, the sound of sunday television blaring, cigarette smoke wafting out, the occasional rattling cough. the lights are dim and it takes my eyes a while to adjust. i walk into the main kitchen and saw him there steaming some vegetables while a man with yellowed hair and darker yellow nails watches on.

"hi"...  he turns and looks at me, "hello"...  he turns back to the stove. "dad, it's me". he turns back at looks at me for a few moments before it clicks, then walks over and hugs me, still holding the saucepan. he leaves the cooking to his friend, who looks pleased to have control, and we go to his room. it can't be bigger than 3x3m and it is filled with junk. his favourite colour seems to be purple, and he has shown his love for it  by dragging home anything purple he can find. the other objects didn't miss out either as he has sprayed them with purple paint. street signs, hub caps, twigs, planks of wood, anything. i sit down and he makes a lame attempt to clean. he sits down with a sponge in his hand and wipes at the grime that has taken quite some time to collect on the coffee table that is nothing more than a piece of wood sitting on a broken marble slab. i watch him. his once strong marathon-running body has withered, but although his hands are also stained yellow, his nails are neat and trimmed. he looks at me. "you've changed your hair". "yes". "how is everybody?". "good"(where do i begin?). "i have your 21st present for you". he stands and picks up a bag. hands it to me and i pull out a wrapped package. "it's just a cooler bag - i thought it might be handy if you go outdoors". i unwrap it to find an old bag with a lunchbox in it. "thankyou - this does look handy". we sit in silence for a minute. "there was a bottle of champagne too - but i drank it when nobody came...". "thats ok..." "it wasn't the most expensive bottle, but it was decent". he leans over to his fridge and gets out his cask wine and pours some into a mug. he notices the only other item in the fridge and takes it out. hands it to me. "i ordered this for you. i caught the bus to pick it up,  caught the bus home, but i tripped and smashed it". i unwrap the (surprise) purple paper and find broken bits of chocolate. it once was the shape of a bottle, and i read one of the pieces that says 'Happy Birthday Jennifer'. "thankyou. i have something for you also". i hand him a box of cigars. his face lights up. he takes them carefully in his shaking hands and turns the box over and over. my heart is burning from the sheer sadness of this gift exchange. we talk awkwardly for about an hour. i tell him grandad died. tell him how his sons are doing. tell him what they look like, and how tall my little brother is now (6"4). he reads me some of his writing. it is a hope shattering view into his daily life. i tell him it is almost time for me to go. he pretends not to hear me. i wait another ten minutes then repeat myself. his eyes fill and he stands and hobbles over to me unaided my his walking stick. i stand and step towards the door. he hugs me and tells me how much he loves me. "i love you too dad". his lips are trembling and his eyes are begging me not to leave him here. i turn to leave, he still has hold of my hands. i have to pull away, but i do so without turning back to him, because i'm sure the sight would break me.

i walk back down the corridor, stepping aside for a resident who seems to be unaware of me. he mumbles past. i open the door to the hostel and it has changed to night while i have been inside. it's windy and as i walk to the car my eyes are streaming. i get in my car, out of the wind, yet my eyes are still streaming, and they don't stop....