My Granddad Has This Friend

It doesn’t make much sense, nothing does really. Not that anything should make sense, but I guess there’s no harm in trying, but people aren’t worth the bother, not one iota. My grandmamma told me that most people don’t got much common sense, like the kind of sense that you’re suppose to have. Me, I got some, but not a whole lot of it on account of the fact that I still got that soft spot on the top of my head, at least that’s what my grandmamma says anyhow. She said that once I grows up and flies the coop, which sort of makes me sound like a bird or something, my head will grow hard, like wood, maybe harder. Not that that’s something to look forward to, but that’s that, I suppose, at least according to my grandmamma, and she only lies when she’s playing Crazy Eights or Pinochle. Old people are like that, from my point of view anyhow. My granddad has this friend with a wood leg who always has these white crumbs in the corner of his mouth, from those hard mints or Humbugs or something; anyhow you know those kind of candies that old fellows are always carrying round in their pant’s pockets, the ones all sticky with lint and balled up Kleenex and the like. My own dad carried a handkerchief in his pant’s pocket that he blew his nose into, it was all balled up too, and sometimes with blood in it, especially on account of when he had a cold or was in a bad mood. Seeing as I don’t recall much about my dad, or my mom, actually, I could be making all this up or just being stupid like. People like me, I mean people with the soft spot still on their heads, can get confused a lot I guess. Goes with the territory or something like that. Least that’s what I figure, at least.