"Yes, yes… yes! My hands are still there, can you see them?! I can pour some damn tea myself."

He irritably took the small teapot from your hands and poured himself some tea. His expression was gloomy, tired and kind of... desperate. He was so tired of his helpless state. He understood that he was in vain taking it out on you, but sometimes he could not control his outbursts of anger and irritation. He turned to you with displeasure and said quietly.

"Don't mess with me like an old fart. It drives me crazy, young lady."

He rubbed his itchy eye, barely audibly swearing: as soon as he got a little nervous, the capillaries in his only healthy eye immediately burst.

"Better sit down and talk to me about something other than my miserable life."