Few people in town even remembered his real name. They knew him simply as “Loco.”
Henry remembered, though.
He remembered the frenzied beatings, the angry Pall Mall cigarette burns and living in relentless fear that his father — the esteemed Dr. Farquhar — would come at him again.
Henry finally snapped at the age of eleven. That was sixty years ago.
Since then and to this day, Henry visits his father’s grave daily,
drops his pants and takes a good, long whizz.
Then, he smokes a Pall Mall and snuffs the butt on the headstone.