My grandfather sitting at the dining room table, writing poems and listening to Greek music. I sat across the table and all I could see above his typewriter was his head with his glasses on top. Every time he pressed the wrong key he'd get mad. Then when he finished his whole poem he would read it to me and be proud. Even when it was in Greek and I didn't understand a word, I still liked to listen because he seemed so happy to tell me. I would sit on his lap and he'd start to write another one. Even though he's not around anymore I can still hear the typewriter clicking.