Beneath the zeitgeisty affectations he was an old school creepy letcher photographer guy.

He sat reading in the darkening room. The book was a true account of an unschooled man who’d devised his own system of mathematics based on a series of dreams. The man in the book believed this knowledge had come from God.
·
He was reading the book with a flashlight because the electricity had been turned off. He put the book aside and took another sip of gin. If only God would tell him what to do. It wouldn’t even need to be God—any benevolent spirit, living or dead, would be welcome.

The promise of the future has receded into the distant past.

Gratitude—the only way back.

She said, Hell, for me, would be eternity, with you.

He grew up with few expectations. He accepted tolerance in place of love, and survival as success.

When I mentioned that even in the absence of an actual box, you could draw a box on the floor and your cat would sit in it, she burst into tears. I can’t stand it she said. That’s too sad. I don’t think that’s sad at all, I said. I think it’s miraculous.

By the time you get her attention, the bartender already seems annoyed. You’re getting that a lot lately. You expect it, really. You give her a short nod, turn and head out into the rain. You’ve come down with your third cold of the season and there seems to be something wrong with your legs. Your father died 20 years ago today. The earnest, dignified man you remember could be your brother now. Limping home in your wet coat, almost comical in your desolation, you wonder. In 20 years, will anyone raise a toast in your memory?

He had lately been spending as much time as possible in the company of animals. No animal had ever ridiculed him, nor regarded him with pity, scorn, or disappointment. Well, possibly disappointment. He could live with that.