A Portrait of Two Men.

A deeply-lined face of pasty-white skin framed with braids of wiry blond hair. He wears knickers and high yellow socks, like a full-sized munchkin. This was Fred, who all day srummed an electric guitar a few feet above my head.

Roland was a retired alcoholic actor who paced the attic of our communal mansion, pounding the floor with a cane, cursing phantoms out the turret window, while his pitch-black three-legged dog-from-hell roamed outside, pissing on whatever he could.

 

 

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