A glass and some vinyl records

His nose; something not quite right about his hawk nose. It was either too big for his face or his face was too small for it. What a pity. The young boy’s mother had been such a beauty.
“Sir, I hope you’re sure about giving away these vinyls. They’re vintage, you know.”
The old man had to break his musings, put down the whisky glass, and come closer.
“So?”
“So! They’re very valuable.”
This wasn’t worth putting the whisky down.
“There’s no one meaning of value, boy. And I’m sure. I’d rather they be looked after than collect dust, like my bones.”
The young boy looked around. Indeed, the house did have dust everywhere a doily should’ve been. The clock was broken, which made sense since the musky smell seemed frozen in time. He began to neatly wrap the records, but his fingers slowed down.
“Sir, won’t your family mind you giving them away to a complete stranger?”
“Not at all.” The old man filled another glass with his quivering hands and placed it on his belly. “Wife’s dead, son hasn’t called in….well, I forget. Just had a beautiful daughter. She was a good girl. Ran away years ago. Haven’t bothered no one since.”
Watching him take a proud sip, the young boy felt shreds of pity for the man and relief that indeed, the vinyls needed a better home.
“Rest assured, Sir. These are all of my mother’s favourites. She’ll look after them well. Merry Christmas!”
The old man raised his glass and saw the young boy stride out of the hall. The door shut with a thud. He sprang up towards the window, catching the silhouette of the boy walking away. Maybe he should have offered him a glass too. Or the bottle. Maybe some other day. In the window, he caught his own reflection. He had always hated his big hawk nose.