He's been getting up and around, hitchhiking out to Balfour to pay me visits, bring me sacks of rubbish he's gathered from free piles (and always a few scrolls), it's good to see him off his scooter, coming into the restaurant to lord it over me, get free salads, fries, desserts, then complain about the prices...
He sits on the beach, enjoys the view, stops and talks to the customers (!!STORMY - STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!).
I go around to visit him at his apartment - the artist in his studio:
The marionette of the Mexican with the Ukulele, the hula girl doll, I found them in a free pile and hung them on his doorknob...he's arranged them festively with some Xmas ornaments.
He assures me he's been cleaning out his place, tidying up...
A short visit, the smell grows unbearable, the only way you'd know is if you were a CSI that showed up a month late to the death of a hoarder, there's a body in here somewhere, and he's inviting me for dinner, he's going to make it, amazing, and I can't even breathe in here, let alone imagine eating food, but it's a week away and I'll just have to deal with it when the time comes...
And the treasures just pile up in the back of the jeep and I'm afraid to unbox them...