A Home For the Unjudgable

One disgruntled nursing assistant calls it: the s..t house. I overhear the laughter of angels. The inmates know it as ‘Fair Havens’ some have a sense of humor they name the place the ‘Twilight Zone’ or the ‘Dead End.’ It’s no worse or better than any last stop for the infirm of age, but meals and flushing toilets here seem synonymous coming as they do so often one after the other. I visit him, he’s no relation, my wife knew him, just a wrinkled-up guy who talks about his boyhood as if it were yesterday and recalls many a disreputable dirty story. I take notes, and he asks what am I writing down? I tell him I’m a recorder of lost worlds. He smiles and nods, continues to speak about matters of great insignificance yet his ramblings are still a living truth. He reminds me of an edgy comic who’s inappropriate and insulting jokes will turn the air as blue as the skin of a still grinning corpse.