He could barely breathe, struggled to catch his breath every ten words or so, gulping air from the reservoir of the non-rebreather, then continuing with his story.
"I trained thoroughbreds," he gasped. "Came up from Mississippi in'62," gasp " worked Suffolk, and Churchill" gasp "Foxboro and Raynham" gasp "rode 'em, broke 'em, fed 'em" gasp "Loved 'em."
"Don't talk, Winston," I told him. "Catch your breath."
"I designed ambulances," gasp "in the eighties."gasp" worked at City Body on Broad," gasp "used to produce three a week," gasp.
He lived alone, now, him and his medications. Pneumonia, diabetes, heart failure, high blood pressure, and arthritis slowed him down a little, but at seventy-two, not as much as you would think. Most of his family was dead, or in Mississippi, and" folks round here don't know the value of conversation."
"How long have you been having trouble breathing?" Iasked.
"Oh, bout three years now," gasp " did I tell you about "gasp" the catfish that "gasp "almost killed me?" gasp.
I turned up the oxygen a little, sat back and listened.
aw bless him, I wish him well and hope you can catch up again with him to hear more.
he sounds like a lovely man with the sort of life stories we never hear about, shame.
I hope you know what I mean.
xx