She found her grandfather sitting with a group of bowlers on Lane 17. She watched him for a moment, surrounded by a group of the men and ladies who had nothing to do all day but drink, smoke, and bowl games of ten pin until the ARC van came to pick them up. Saul's face was alight with the energy of their interest, his smile a beacon in the grim florescent lighting as his gestures painted a picture of his words. Lilly's heart hitched in her chest. He looked so normal, so alive, so there, and she hated that it was all a lie. She made her way over to the group.
"...And I was the only bowler to get a turkey that day!" he exclaimed, just as Lilly reached his side. She smiled politely at the group; some smiled back, their faces wreathed in smoke. Her grandfather despised the smell of cigarettes, and he had never bowled a day in his life. But since his wife died, Saul had wandered daily down the street to the bowling alley, as if something as insubstantial as smoke could make up for a broken heart. Lilly gently took her grandfather's hand.
"It's time to go, Grandpa."
The prompt is the third definition of the word TURKEY: three strikes in bowling.
