amplified raze he was a diabetic drunk. he should have been buried before i knew what i was smelling on his breath. i think he pickled himself. nothing else explains how he lived to be ninety. i was in love with his cadillac deville. i could almost touch the tan leather seats just by looking at them. i didn't understand how something could be so perfect. neither did he. he didn't drive it, though. he washed it by hand and polished the paint and stared. he put his hands on that car more often than he touched his own wife. too much time spent ruining other people's cars in the garage he owned and sold for more money than he deserved left him almost deaf. a matched pair of microphones and receivers flooded his head with noise so he could nod and smile while memorizing the dull shapes of every mouth that made up his life. cupboards closing hurt his ears, but he never flinched when my sister screamed into his hearing aid. he had more grandchildren than god. one night, after drinking enough beer to piss himself, he slurred to my sister, "you're my favourite out of all my grandkids," with all the lesser grandchildren huddled around him. he cranked up the volume. all he heard was hiss. 220402 ... kerry [i love the clarity of this, raze. you really know how to paint a picture.] 220402 what's it to you? who go blather from