The man who lives in the cupboard sees through the crack in the door. His bemused eyes that reflect the light that shines through like a yellow snake in the dark sea like a man who understands despite his condition. The people and things passing through his vision a conveyor belt-display-market: which idea of his about the world does this one reverberate. He lays his judgment upon them with dogged conviction.
His thoughts passed along and fondled in the clockwork brain. Illuminated in the candle light of his awareness. Each one a pleasant surprise to him like a dictator's faultless children. His white beard, his white wrinkled face. His eyes that never gave a look back to another's. Your meek and ancient grandfather. He lives in the cupboard and sees through the crack in the door and loves being Hitler with his thoughts.
