About the work

His glasses are always a little crooked. Not enough to be broken, just enough to suggest that he puts them on in a hurry, or perhaps without looking in a mirror. They’ve been like that for years, ever since his wife passed and he stopped quite caring about the small things. The new jacket is a gift from his daughter, who insisted he needed something proper to keep out the chill, even if he rarely goes out now. He’s wearing it because he didn’t know how long they’d be here, and he wanted to be ready for anything. It’s hard to tell, under the harsh light, if he’s noticed yet that the child has fallen asleep against his side.