the trufe

Niall was walking around town, having had breakfast with his brother and nephew - or rather son - looking at the boy who held his hand and walked beside him. “Uncle Niall,” he asked, looking up at the brunette, his Irish accent prominent since he lived in Ireland, “Can we sing songs tonight? I like that one you have - it’s like .. drive highways and biways to be there with you. Over and over the only trufe, everyting comes back to you,” he sang, Niall smiling and kneeling down to pick up the boy, nodding his head and poking his nose. “Of course we can buddy, and then we can watch some movies and stay up really late,” he smiled, seeing the boy nod and smile brightly.