A month ago I saw this man, he was on his bareskin clothing. He's got scars all over his body and he's howling and talking to himself. Lately on my way home, I saw him with hands on his pocket and wearing a jacket and with a hidden face he walked past by me. Folks in the neighborhood treat him good-for-nothin' and his wife went away defeated by her purpose of bringing her husband back to reality. He doesn't care. A few years back this same person used to borrow Nintendo rom cartridges from me. I'd laugh thinking old people also had time for playing. He'll play with his youngest son till their thumbs would ache. He's proven to me a few times that he's a man of few words. He doesn't talk long and he just say what he thinks. That's particularly rude for me, though. Gone crazy he could be but that does not remove my respect to a man who once saved his eldest son's life in no regards to the condition that he could be paying it for his own. So many...
Here's how it felt blogging over my biotopic pond...