I was talking with the handyman of my building, a loud-mouthed drunk who lives in the basement. Our subject was old age and isolation, and the handyman brought up Smith, our building's janitor. The handyman said Smith rattled around in his apartment with the news going and his arms flapping. By the time he came out, his brain was entirely out of step with everybody else's. The handyman said the mismatch showed up this way: “He thinks he got to explain to people. He thinks they need him to explain everything. That's why Smith is always depressed.”
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