let's hope the poor schmoe died happy.
at least he had plenty of reading matter while he was suffocating or dying of thirst
or whatever got him.
Makes you think that he'd ticked off his whole family and all his friends.
Nobody calls, *sob... nobody comes over. Maybe he was a real jerk
and everybody had crossed him off their list.
Periodically some old lonely soul dies and is discovered in their home
where they had stacked up so many magazines or boxes of 'collectibles"
and whatnot. Sometimes they have fifty cats, or more than that, and they
have paths through their living room and dining room so they can make
their way to the kitchen and the bathroom. Sometimes their bedroom is full
and they haven't been in there for ten years, and spend all of their time in
one chair.
Creepy and sad. People are social animals, and when we're isolated, we get weird.
Just like the apes in the zoo. A house like that, it's prolly best to set it on fire.
