Can we talk about something else? Can we talk about something else? The The Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

Oh, Oh, Lones, I've found, are good company.

Lones, I've found, are good company.

Once in a while, of course.

I think we recognize something about one another, us loners.

We sense each other's discomfort.

A loner is born under their own unreliable past, so although we can't even relate to each other, we can relate to being a I showed up at my brother's

to being unrelated to being relatable.

I showed up at my brother's apartment one day

around the age of 22 with a couple of garbage bags full of clothes.

Leroy had a crash pad full of squatters, so I just hopped on the pile,

eventually ending up on a pull-out couch salvaged from the street

that we affectionately named Old Rickety.

The apartment was right downtown and in a... that we affectionately named Old Rickety.

The apartment was right downtown and in a decrepit brick building that

shadowed an alley and the back lot of a strip club.

In the apartment below lived a tiny old bachelor, known maybe not so affectionately about town as the elephant man.

He was covered in large goiders, pussy bumps that disfigured him.

Some have been removed through surgery leaving deep divots.

He made a meager living off a disability and washing the windows of the downtown storefronts.

His name was Frank, and we often chain smoked and drank with the man on a shared patio during the summer months.

He was the perfect neighbor for us.

...