Do you know why he drinks? In the corner of the ruins with a bottle in his hands? The whole street came down in the air-raid but he wasn’t home. He found her picture, picked out the shards of glass, then found the vodka bottle in shiny silk, layers of luxury that saved it from the blast.
So that’s what he’s drinking now, in memory of her, while they sort body parts. They’ll give him a ticket when they’re done but it won’t bring her back.
Red silk, a picture, the petals of fifteen roses; and a lonely old man.