“Why can’t he close the door while he’s taking a shit?” she wondered. It was disgusting seeing him sitting there with his foul under shorts around his ankles smoking cigarette after cigarette, flicking the shes between his legs into the toilet, reading the paper…. just disgusting! The smell of his smoke, his shit – the embarrassment of it all…. Who wants the world to see him shitting in front of his impressionable daughters? Close the door! Bastard!
By the time he was sixty, alcohol had debilitated him to the point of forgetting lines in the plays he was in, missing appointments, mismanaging money – He owed more than $30K in gambling debts. His business partners began running things. His wife left him. His children left him. He stayed in bed drinking all day. Pissing in a Gatorade bottle and defecating into a wad of napkins held up to his ass. Shit.
