Lypophrenia

“You are no good, inclined to drunkenness and routs and final disgraceful robbery of the fruits of my ‘umble labors in the hashery. Oh son! did you not ever go on your knees and pray for deliverance for all your sins and scoundrel’s acts? Lost boy! Depart! Do not haunt my soul; I have done well forgetting you. Reopen no old wounds, be as if you had never returned and looked in to me – to see my laboring humilities, my few scrubbed pennies – hungry to grab, quick to deprive, sullen, unloved, mean-minded son of my flesh. Son! Son!”