The Saddest Man Alive
My across the hall neighbor.
Everyday after work he goes to the Plaid Pantry and buys two microwave meals (the macaroni and cheese kind), two orange sodas and two Snickers bars. He then returns home and eats them alone.
I love this man.
My upstairs neighbor.
Who curses all day loudly to himself and plays a serious tuba.
I loathe this man.
My below me neighbor.
Who is probably sixty, still living alone in his basement studio apartment, and who wears a cowboy hat but has probably never seen a living cow in his life. I saw him machine wash women's stalkings once. He looked ashamed. I wanted to inform him that you aren't supposed to machine wash stalkings, they'll rip.
I'm not sure how I feel about that one...
The old man who works at the plaid pantry.
He is also probably sixty. He always looks really sad. He's going to spend the end of his life in a Plaid Pantry selling PBR to retards. Once I went in there to see if they sold gauze. They didn't, but he suggested I do what they did in Vietnam, which was to tape a Kotex on it. There is was...the saddest image of my life...a sixty year of vet working at Plaid Pantry with pads duct taped all over gapping war wounds.
I wonder what the interaction between him and my neighbor is like everyday; whether or not they have some silent understanding of each other's lives.
Everyday after work he goes to the Plaid Pantry and buys two microwave meals (the macaroni and cheese kind), two orange sodas and two Snickers bars. He then returns home and eats them alone.
I love this man.
My upstairs neighbor.
Who curses all day loudly to himself and plays a serious tuba.
I loathe this man.
My below me neighbor.
Who is probably sixty, still living alone in his basement studio apartment, and who wears a cowboy hat but has probably never seen a living cow in his life. I saw him machine wash women's stalkings once. He looked ashamed. I wanted to inform him that you aren't supposed to machine wash stalkings, they'll rip.
I'm not sure how I feel about that one...
The old man who works at the plaid pantry.
He is also probably sixty. He always looks really sad. He's going to spend the end of his life in a Plaid Pantry selling PBR to retards. Once I went in there to see if they sold gauze. They didn't, but he suggested I do what they did in Vietnam, which was to tape a Kotex on it. There is was...the saddest image of my life...a sixty year of vet working at Plaid Pantry with pads duct taped all over gapping war wounds.
I wonder what the interaction between him and my neighbor is like everyday; whether or not they have some silent understanding of each other's lives.