Learning your lesson

Learning your lesson

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"Child, it ain't easy being a Man." I was telling this to my friend David today.  He looked at me naively, not believing one word I was saying, "and believe me child, I am no liar!"

I grew redder and redder, madder and madder, I was shouting, "Child, what could you possibly know about being a man? You've lived all your life as a child, never experiencing the great responsibility and tension that comes with manhood." I knew that his whole argument was built on shaky foundations, he didn't need to say, I knew. His definition of manhood consisted solely of going to bed anytime you like and having money (from the job, that wasn't covered in his juvenile thinking) to buy video games on the day they are released. 

"You're a pecker Nick, why are you such a cock to me all the time?"

I was getting to him, I could feel myself crawling under his skin. Then he began to cry, right there, in the middle of an adult discussion, in the middle of a crowded street.   

 

A report from Skid Row

A report from Skid Row

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I ran into an old friend today, as you'd expect we began to talk. As the chat developed it became clear that time had been cruel to my old friend, it appeared to have driven him mad.

I can't recall exactly how the conversation reached it's final resting place, I think it was prefaced with some small talk about what i had for my dinner the previous night, but he began telling me of a fetish he had developed. As often as possible, my old friend would smell other people's underwear. He was specific, he had no interest in delicates fresh from the wash, none whatsoever, but only had eyes (and nose) for undergarments that had seen a whole day of action, in the trenches so to speak. He went on, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable nature of the dialogue. I asked no questions. He told of how his nose had developed to the point that, he could plot the events of the day prior to the smelling, and this seemed to be the appeal. It dawned on me that this avocation wasn't, as I had immediately thought a sexual or sinister thing, it was a cry for companionship, a lament on loneliness. 

Then I shocked myself. I interjected, cut him off mid flow, "I'll send you some of my pants if you want, I live with two other people as well, I'm sure I could smuggle something of theirs into the parcel if you'd be into that, actually Dave has a pair of boxers that previously belonged to a mad man, I'm sure they'd make interesting breathing."

I wrote down my old friend's new address, shook his hand, smiled and continued on to my intended destination.