Old men with broken teeth, stranded without love.

I went to work on Saturday to haul some garbage to the dump. The rain will probably start soon, and the idea is to have everything under cover outside. It was a warm day, and when I was outside working, the old guy that owns the machine shop next door, suggested I take of my shirt and get a tan.

He's spent a number of years at Pelican Bay State Prison, the high security prison in Northern California, and probably picked up some gay tendencies there. He's a racist, also, but I suppose prison will enforce those attitudes. To survive, I've been told you have to have prison gang affiliations, so he was in the Aryan Brotherhood. He was convicted of converting semi-automatic rifles to fully automatic for the Hell's Angels. He still rides motorcycles, but he's had a couple of crashes in the last few years, because he is physically weak, as well as being a diabetic. He's told me he will continue to ride, and if he ever gets too disabled he will blow his brains out. I sort of feel sorry for him. He's always wearing dirty clothes, and doesn't eat properly. He'll start going into diabetic shock every so often, and he'll come over and we'll have him sit down and drink sodas until he feels better.