It is hard to write when you are surrounded by a layer of filth. Dust, skin, grime. Soiled human souls spewing foul language. Yuck.
Suffice it to say I'm not having much fun at my dad's place at the moment. He has a grimy giant of a retired military guy as a housemate, and every phone conversation ends with "sonnafabitch."
I don't think it is that they are just a different generation. If that was the case I'd find all old men utterly creepy, and I don't. But this is a class of old men. They wash and only stay clean for a few minutes. Then they become covered in the detritus of sadness and meaninglessness.
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