I drag a razor slowly across the face of this old man
as he tells me a story of youth and wasted times back when.
How he once stayed in 700 dollar hotels
and once performed on stage
He once had a family he loved and was religious in his faith.
he hesitates to tell me of
the worse parts of fate

But there's no need for words when I can read it all in his face.
divorce, deaths, explosions, deceit
******, vengeance, drugs and jail and violence and hate
all realized now, too old for mistakes
He raises an eye brow and says
"I've joined the working class again
I got a job at the restaurant down the street"
I'm glad for him I say
but wonder just how long it will last.

"I want to keep from killing myself and find something useful to do"
I tell him that we're done shaving his beard from his face now,
but he should maybe get a hair-cut as well.
He tells me, "maybe later..." He kind of likes it long,
"People don't bother with me very much at all.”