"'You’re just a boy,' he said, putting his hand on my head. He had big, thick, damp fingers. “You only need to worry about whether the sun is shining. Your grandfather was in Berlin during the war. He could see the paper to read at night there was so much bombing.”
Then he said, 'You don’t know what to say,' because I stood there dumbly with the bag of acorns hanging from my hand. He met my gaze. It seemed so long since we’d looked into each other’s faces."