Twenty years now, that guy's been
dead; so long at least I remember.
Maybe it's even more. There's a
transitional period, when the mind
finds it more easy to relax and think
things over. Time compresses, and
the self forgets. I can still visualize
the entire scene - that day his father
said to him that he should be more
like me. Boy, was that embarrassing,
and did he get angry. Had I known
he'd be dead so soon, I would gladly
have given to him the rest of my life.
He could have it for the taking. Toil,
and strife. It was boring me to tears.