At this point I may as well tell this story.
Forty years ago, we went to see my brother-in-law's brother about a painting job.
He was about twenty years old, and lived in an upstairs apartment.
The kind with rickety wood stairs in the alley.
He had a worn out stuffed chair, with a brick under a broke leg, an old black, and white TV, a path from the chair, to the TV through the girlie magazines strewed about the floor.
An old fridge held a stick of butter, and a couple cans of cheap beer.
A real boars nest.
