A bitter sprinkling of powdered camarderie

I grew up in a 1940s cape cod home. He grew up in real salt box and became my adviser, or my manager depending on your point of view. Spiritual, physical, mental, intellectual, hobby, you name it. He swept in on a busted up schooner, set sail for the Mediterranean, and by chance ended up in my back yard. What a bust for him. He lived in old man Howell's basement until it came time for me to step into my prime, upon which he was immediately moved into the lower left closet in my basement, which had its own running water and electrical conduit. Expertly he was able to expose truths, faults, and sub-conscious experience that I had yet to be aware of. He took detailed notes and provided me with the necessary guidance. Now I manage a local deli with the likes of Mr. Brukowski and Winters Penochet. My manager's name is Eleon Kirchall, and he is not available for your use. Have a good existence sucker.