Sunday, February 20, 2011

Here I am, an old man...

Here I am, an old man. Mostly bald, cantankerous and slightly weird. Potbellied, I wander mumbling incomprehensible complaints. I dress drably, except for a battered fedora which, erroneously, I imagine to be dashing. Everything I own is worn and has a greasy patina of sadness.

I walk about a neighbourhod which I ended up in through a series of well considered, joyless compromises made many years ago. I prefer architecture to people because it is silent. I live on toast, poached eggs and whisky. I have no friends, my social life long having been reduced to semi-formal exchanges with the postman. Sometimes I try to flrt with waitresses: a pitiful sight. Thus, for company, I aquired a dog which resembles a rat.

I have a long mental list of people and institutions I despise, ranging from the manager of the supermarket to the  US Secretary of State. I try to add to my list of grievances every day. I am considering disliking the postman, though as yet I have no specific reason to. I have no interest in other opinons than my own, unless they concur, or they provide me with fuel for my contempt.

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