ジョシュ・ブローリンのインスタグラム(joshbrolin) - 1月21日 02時31分

I remember, after not seeing him for 7 years (my mom didn’t get along with the family), having driven down to Newport with my newly acquired driver’s license, my aunts and grandmother doting on me, when my grandfather finally walked in,left hand gripping his right, drops of blood dripping onto the floor, his face as stone set as I remember it the last time I saw him as a child. “Bobbie, go get me a needle and thread”. My aunt promptly retrieved a needle and some thread and he himself sat across from me and proceeded to stitch up the cut on his hand. I watched. We all watched, in a kind of stoic silence. After he completed this more than primitive act, he put what was left gently down on a side table, lifted his head toward me and said: “...and who are you?”. I think, remembering now, that there may have been the slightest smile on his lips.
This is my grandfather, Henry, on the left, me on the right. We all came from the same innocence germinating into the saltiest, dirt clod perceptions.

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