The old, chain-smoking veteran outside of your aunt's nursing home in upstate NY might just be literary legend Kurt Vonnegut.
Yes, even though Kurt passed away in 2007 after falling down the front steps of his Manhattan apartment,this yellow-toothed wise acre might still be the famed author of Slaughterhouse Five and Mother Night.
He then patted you on the back and called you a "fellow suicide case."
The man is often seen outside the hospital with a shih-poo, smoking unfiltered Pall Malls and flirting with the female nurses. While his jokes might be a little off-color, he has earned the respect of the other residents.
On your visit today, he bummed a smoke off of you and told you that one of the "great ironies" of his life was that these "cancer- sticks" hadn't killed him yet. He then patted you on the back and called you a "fellow suicide case."
He went on to tell you about his time during the war and his conjugal visits with a "big old broad" in a place called Tralfamadore. In the middle of a colorful tale involving one of their romantic escapades, he stops and tells his orderly he needs to take a whiz. The orderly chuckles a little and rolls him away.
I guess one will never know if that was indeed the black comic genius or just another crazy person, but before you leave, you notice on the bench a crude little children's drawing of an asterisk.
Underneath it in clear print it is labeled: "my asshole."
Hmm, guess we'll never know.
Happy Birthday, Kurt!