The Final Wish of a Bus Mechanic

Near the end, his skin turned canary yellow. The fingers thinner than an elegant cigarette. His blue gem eyes sinking just below the water line. Above the bed was a picture of an empty crucifix. Pointing in the direction of his final breath. A few nights before he passed, he asked for a beer. I poured him one, into a dark coffee mug. The old bus mechanic lightly chuckled... said he couldn't see the bubbles, I re-poured into a tall, elegant glass-fit for a royal. In the half-light the amber halos rose to meet his lips. I had broken the rules but granted a king a pauper's wish.