Herman had enjoyed his life, til one day his employer said he wasn’t able to keep him on the force, due to the harsh times in south east asia. Herman couldn’t for the life of him understand what the harsh times in south east asia had to do with a Café in Boston, but figured ‘that’s life, and it smells bad’.
Herman soon stopped paying his rent, he preferred to buy liquer and wine for his money, Herman had this very serious drinking problem. Which comes as no surprise to anyone knowing what a bad streak of misery Herman’s life had been.
The job at the café, that’s one thing, then his wife left him for a south american dealer in fine Cigars and cocoa. Senor Alvestrado Rupeira. That’s the name of the dealer. Then he got kicked out of his apartment, because he didn’t pay the rent.
He found Brown shoe polish of a certain brand to be the best for getting a buzz. he invested heavily in shoe polish, brown. Until he had no money left, then he started stealing the stuff. After a few days, however, he would be black listed in the shoe store. Then he’d steal from delivery trucks, he was a fountain of good ideas, our Herman.
Of course, Herman understood that the polish was bad for his system. After some time he began getting serious ‘tics’, and started shivering severely. He began bleeding from the gum, and such. Herman was in bad shape.
One morning when the other sad characters in the hallway got up for their first sip of kerosene for the day, Herman didn’t move. He had a large amount of brown shoe polish smeared out around his mouth. He had been to a party. His neighbours realised he was no longer with them, so they split his tube of shoe polish between them, and managed to get a transport to wherever it is they transport the sorry bits of society. Herman had a son somewhere, who wasn’t interested in attending the funeral. ‘I never knew him.’ he said.
There, that’s life. Brown shoe polish and rats. That’s essentially it.
Ophelia was a preference, not humanly accessible, not as such.