El mano y la mesa

This morning he woke and before he had the motivation to face the others in the house he rested his hand against the edge of a nearby table. With the back of wrist to the stained wood he straightened his fingers. Pointing them towards the high ceiling of the kitchen. Letting his fingers relaxed they fell, making a ninety degree angle with his hand. By letting his wrist relax meant the top of the hand became parallel with the table top. This action was repeated. Looped. There was a childlike fascination with the mechanics of his fingers and how they remained horizontal for two of the three positions. When his mind wandered from this experiment he stopped and studied the hand in detail. The knuckle of his index finger made a sharp mountain through the skin, which for some reason seemed thinner than yesterday. He saw the hands of an old man.