He seemed to change right before my eyes, this man of distinction telling me lies. The stories he told me were when he was young, in everyone one he was always the winner, always number one. I started to think he was nothing but a fool, I knew that a bottle of booze was his golden rule. He would sit me down and tell me the same stories over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, you know he was a loser he was my old man. It wasn’t fair, because I wanted him to see, he’s not really finished at fifty-three. But he would sit me down and tell me those stories again, you know he was a loser, he was my old man, and he would sit me down and tell me those stories again.