The other day our Polish neighbor, Bonecrusher,who has PTSD, came by to ask if Slim was home. While they'd hung out in the past, he'd never come by to ask for company before, and was clearly embarrassed. We were about to eat, but Slim went over.
When he'd been gone an hour I brought him a plate of dinner; they were watching Nacho Libre.
An hour later, Slim came by to use the bathroom. "It's getting pretty intense over there," he said. "We're watching Generation Kill.
In another hour (it was by now about 10) he came in looking haggard. "I need a drink," he said. "Bonecrusher wants to show me photos of the people he killed in Iraq,so he won't forget what a terrible person he is."
I cleaned the bathroom and watched 20/20.
"Done?" I asked hopefully when he showed at 11. "Now we're watching The Break-Up," he said grimly. "Apparently Vince Vaughn's character is Polish."
Ultimately, during a round of some war video game, Bonecrusher got so disgusted by Slim's inept killing that he kicked him out and we went to bed.