3

"ah," he said. He didn't like to turn over much. That's for damn sure.
"ah," she said. She had to pick his ass up every day.
You know the story. The working class hero is something to be. Every god damn day a man works his ass off for his pennies and then spends them on shit he don't need and his condolence is that "at least he is happy." And then later his wife dies and he is left pissing and shitting in his own old seat.
And there were really two stories to him. The one that he told while he's sober and the one that he told while he is drunk. You know there are people like that. There are people who get sad, happy, shitty, whorey, angry, laughy, suck-dicky, rapie, pissy (both metaphorically and physically), and all. You've all seen them. And they usually get drunk the same way. I don't know what you could call this old man. I guess you could say that he was a tired drunk. Tired and conversational. He'd talk your ear off and keep going forever.
There are different types of talkers you know. There are those talkers that like to talk and talk a lot, but still listen and can hold on the most best conversation that you have ever heard. And there are those conversationalists that don't shut the fuck up. I know I am one of the later. I've only met one person in my life that I liked to listen to them more than myself-because most people make voices for their fucking cat or talk about how they don't understand how they are fat when they eat like 10,000 calories in one day. And this man was one of the later too. He is one of those that you can actually fall asleep, wake up, and then realize that the bastard is still talking to you and won't shut up. And then your like what the fuck will you shut the fuck up already? But he doesn't even see that look in your eye he never does.