My friend Ken

This is my friend Ken. He smokes un-filtered Pall Malls and has finger nails longer than most women I know. He writes poetry, fiction, essays, and music. He draws, paints, sculpts, and plays the harp. He has lived in the same 250 sq ft. hotel room in downtown LA for the last 28 years.
He's a veteran of three foreign wars and refers to himself as an extreme Maoist.
Most mornings we sit together drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and he gives me advice or we discuss politics and current events. Lately he has suggested that to save money I should get rid of my car and invest in a horse and a light plane. Yesterday he told me stories about being a kid living at the Vatican where he would draw on the paintings and call the Pope "Pappy". His first wife, who he married at age 11 in a native American ceremony, was beautiful and smart but kind of a mess. Sadly she suffered from "psychosomatic leprosy" and could only be cured through his sexual prowess.