Carpet and Beer

The carpet guy came and did a good job--looks great.  While he was here, I vacated the place for several hours by visiting the Stafford Library. Sat and read, along with the rest of the lonely old people.
When I got home, guy was just finishing up.  He's the nephew of the owner and rents a room from his stepfather.  We started talking and I wondered--not aloud--what could possibly be in his future. He's just a kid, really--he said he was twenty-five--short, and about eighty pounds overweight.  He gets paid only when he works--no health care, no sick time, no vacation or other paid days off.  He blames the immigrants, welfare cheats, and "the terrorists" for what's wrong with our world.  He seemed not to understand the vast desert in which he's wandering, constructed by the wealthiest of the wealthy, assisted by their whores, the politicians. Eventually, he'll die there of thirst and vultures will pick his bones.  I gave him a rather nice-sized (for me) tip and thanked him for his work.
Saw Frank-Next-Door sprucing up his flower beds and he invited me over after for a beer. As I've mused for some time, if somebody like Frank were available--he isn't--on these dating sites, I'd sign up so fast it would make your head spin.
So as soon as carpet guy left, I went next door for an hour of good talk--and some good Irish beer--with Frank and Barbara.  I've said it before and I repeat: They're the ones I'll miss when I leave.