There is a guy who lives alone across from the mail store I frequent almost every day. He doesn’t own a car, walks everywhere, and sometimes appears to be muttering to nobody in particular. He’s about my age, often wears his shirt unbuttoned to his belly, and someone at the local grocery said he thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Well, I don’t know about that, but he does like to show off his chest. On warm days, he doesn’t wear a shirt at all, and his tanned and leathery skin will attest to that.
He presents himself as an artist. He’s always displaying some kind of large picture on his front lawn, usually of a rock music group. A picture he did of Jim Morrison and the Doors is always on display. Last week he put up a large sign thanking Brian Wilson for the good music and happy memories.
