It seems we confuse desperation in old people for senility. This guy didn't seem to be lacking any facilities, but I'm sure he didn't have much social fulfillment when he was a young man on the California mountains. Was his endless blathering the pinnacle of his alienation? Had he simply abandoned the self-conscientiousness that keep so many of us in quiet despair? Was I just the next passerby he'd grabbed by the shoulders to shout, "Look at me!"
I'll understand one day, I suppose, but it seems like such a lonely place to be. I hope I'm never there.