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Description
Is that thing... doing its recording thing?, the liver-spotted man asked.  The opposing young boy nodded in agreement.  About damn time, he continued in complaint.  The young man's faced shifted to a state of awkwardness.  So, you come all this way to ask me about LIFE and your balls shrink up when I use a curse word?, the liver-spotted man questioned.

Silence.  Strange silence.  Clock ticking audible silence.  WELL?, the liver-spotted man questioned.

The young boy looked around at the other older people: each in different states of vegetation, distances to death, and so forth.  Look, Grandpa, I just wanted to ask you about your life, the young boy said with a subtle tone.  He fidgeted about and scooted his chair closer to the bedside of the liver-spotted man as he threw his hands in the air.

Grandpa?  I don't have any damn grandkids, but every youngster that walks into this place likes to think they'll trick me and I'll put 'em in my will, the liver-spotted man ranted in his lapsed memory, faded brain cells, and dimensia.  The young boy sighed.

Look, I'm not your Grandpa, I don't know your Dad, and if I did I would have raised him better than to push his bastard kids off to play at an old folks home instead of a damn playground.  Jesus CHRIST, kids these days, the liver-spotted man barked.  He coughed a bit and adjusted his pillow: allowing him to remain propped and as to prepare for his lecture.  Just sit and listen, young man.  I didn't get here because of reward or merit - no - I got here because of the mind and the body!  You make note of that: mind and body.  You have to take care of them both.  Your body fails and you end up living a long life.  You end up like me: sharp as a tack and miserable because you knew what you were, but what your mind wants to do your body can't handle.  As for the mind, well, if you put too much shit in your body then you lose your mind like that nut job over there in the wheel chair who keeps proclaiming every five minutes that he's FOUND HIS LEFT THUMB, PRAISE THE LORD!, the liver-spotted man spat out while pointing at, literally, a man in a wheel chair counting over his fingers over and over again only to smile and proclaim - as the liver-spotted man predicted - that he had found his left thumb.

You lose your mind and as a whole you are lost.  It is ironic because if you lose your mind, you have no idea you are lost: that's a damn beautiful thing because you apparently don't try and find your way back because since you lost your mind, you obviously aren't coherent enough to comprehend that condition.  Tricky, it is... the mind.

The young man scratched his head as the liver-spotted man continued.

Spinach.  Write that down.  Every morning, you wake up and eat a can of spinach whether you want to or not.  Why?  Don't ask, I'm talking.  You eat the can and it all adds up to 90 calories.  If you sit on your ass all day it doesn't help the wasteline, but if you eat it each morning at the start of the day I can assure you it becomes the defacto measurement that the body IS working.  You eat it and before lunch, if you shit it out then you know your stomach is up to speed.  Hell, you can get so sick of spinach that you can - write this down - substitute a can of spinach for a can of snow peas, green beans, or any damn green that is packed with fiber and makes you feel like a grazing cow.  It is one of many things that builds character if you make it a part of your regiment.  Look at me: a can a day and I'm 95 years old.  I'm living a long life and I'm as regular as the IRS: not the weather.

Description
Is that thing... doing its recording thing?, the liver-spotted man asked.  The opposing young boy nodded in agreement.  About damn time, he continued in complaint.  The young man's faced shifted to a state of awkwardness.  So, you come all this way to ask me about LIFE and your balls shrink up when I use a curse word?, the liver-spotted man questioned.

Silence.  Strange silence.  Clock ticking audible silence.  WELL?, the liver-spotted man questioned.

The young boy looked around at the other older people: each in different states of vegetation, distances to death, and so forth.  Look, Grandpa, I just wanted to ask you about your life, the young boy said with a subtle tone.  He fidgeted about and scooted his chair closer to the bedside of the liver-spotted man as he threw his hands in the air.

Grandpa?  I don't have any damn grandkids, but every youngster that walks into this place likes to think they'll trick me and I'll put 'em in my will, the liver-spotted man ranted in his lapsed memory, faded brain cells, and dimensia.  The young boy sighed.

Look, I'm not your Grandpa, I don't know your Dad, and if I did I would have raised him better than to push his bastard kids off to play at an old folks home instead of a damn playground.  Jesus CHRIST, kids these days, the liver-spotted man barked.  He coughed a bit and adjusted his pillow: allowing him to remain propped and as to prepare for his lecture.  Just sit and listen, young man.  I didn't get here because of reward or merit - no - I got here because of the mind and the body!  You make note of that: mind and body.  You have to take care of them both.  Your body fails and you end up living a long life.  You end up like me: sharp as a tack and miserable because you knew what you were, but what your mind wants to do your body can't handle.  As for the mind, well, if you put too much shit in your body then you lose your mind like that nut job over there in the wheel chair who keeps proclaiming every five minutes that he's FOUND HIS LEFT THUMB, PRAISE THE LORD!, the liver-spotted man spat out while pointing at, literally, a man in a wheel chair counting over his fingers over and over again only to smile and proclaim - as the liver-spotted man predicted - that he had found his left thumb.

You lose your mind and as a whole you are lost.  It is ironic because if you lose your mind, you have no idea you are lost: that's a damn beautiful thing because you apparently don't try and find your way back because since you lost your mind, you obviously aren't coherent enough to comprehend that condition.  Tricky, it is... the mind.

The young man scratched his head as the liver-spotted man continued.

Spinach.  Write that down.  Every morning, you wake up and eat a can of spinach whether you want to or not.  Why?  Don't ask, I'm talking.  You eat the can and it all adds up to 90 calories.  If you sit on your ass all day it doesn't help the wasteline, but if you eat it each morning at the start of the day I can assure you it becomes the defacto measurement that the body IS working.  You eat it and before lunch, if you shit it out then you know your stomach is up to speed.  Hell, you can get so sick of spinach that you can - write this down - substitute a can of spinach for a can of snow peas, green beans, or any damn green that is packed with fiber and makes you feel like a grazing cow.  It is one of many things that builds character if you make it a part of your regiment.  Look at me: a can a day and I'm 95 years old.  I'm living a long life and I'm as regular as the IRS: not the weather.