“You don't make it in this world without hating someone.” He left the world hating himself, grandfather. I'm sure that somewhere in the midst of a storm, where the clouds grow so dense you cannot see your hand in front of your face, he's there, laughing at my misfortune.

Maybe he isn't there; maybe...maybe there's a languid street warrior lying in a gutter in a self-effacing stupor. Newspapers weeks old, yesterday's news wrapped around him, no one else's business ads pressed against his cheek. An estate agent walks by, maybe, throws him a penny and disappears into an office of grave importance. Maybe, this gutterphile says “Thank'ee” or “Begs yur pardun, sire, but this wee cyne don't get me far.” Maybe, the estate agent carries on and fixes his collar as if troubled by a shoulder-devil who needs a sweep off; maybe, though, maybe he turns, pardons himself and claims he thought the penny was a pound. Come on, you and I both know which. Maybe, though. Maybe grandfather, maybe he's sitting there, on the shoulder of the estate agent, victorious. I would see him crying, not happily.

Cars come and go. People appear and disappear without leaving a name. A fragrance lingers, maybe. The brief tantalysis of a conversation: “...'d never heard of reggae, the cun...” An 'armonica player on a street corner just audible, breaking the hearts of the sub-consciences of the St. Elsewhere's. An aroma, brief, invites itself within my nose. It is familiarly vague, a memory thought lost to time immemorial. The terrible whisper, “Grandfather?”

“You don't make it in this world without missing someone.” That's why, he said, people always make a name for themselves, not for anyone else. I wish I missed him, maybe.
I read through this. A lot of people did. I found it hard to find something to really say about it, which is why I'm sure most of the folks before me didn't comment.

It just seems like it's a skeleton. A complete rough draft where all the ideas are kinda slapped down and not really fleshed out. It's easy to see what you were going for here, and maybe that's why it seemed like a rough draft... it was too obvious.

Sorry, man. I know it's not the most helpful crit I could give, but it's all I can come up with on spot. I'll definitely read it again when it's had some more time in the stew pot.
not your strongest but retains that ownership of language we've all come to expect from you. I for one would like you to sit with this and delve into the grotesque places it brings you.