My grandfather is old. He smells of mildew and scotch. He reads many novels, but they are mostly fiction and there is nothing worse than fiction. He also has dementia.
Once he drove on the wrong side of the freeway, into oncoming traffic. The people driving past him waved their hands in an attempt to signal him and his mistake. He said he never knew he had so many friends. He does not drive anymore.
He is a quiet man, seldom the life of the party and often too inebriated to be understood or ever taken seriously.
Once he woke in the middle of the night to an aching tum. The old timer had forgotten to fill his belly before bed. He whipped up a bowl of cereal and spent the next three days vomiting in hospital. He had eaten a bowl of cat biscuits.
He is not a smoker, although I could easily imagine him at peace with pipe ablaze. He enjoys war movies and has a large collection of teaspoons from places he has never been. I gave him one from Ayres Rock once.
My grandfather is always kind and always drunk. Yesterday he told me he wanted to sleep with me. I managed a very loud no whilst holding back vomit. He then asked if I would like to play cards. He has dementia.
- Ang.
i know this has nothing to do with anything, but, your a little bit cool angela louise smith