When he first saw you, you were a little thing. You stood on his porch, whining, pounding on his door as the rain mercilessly drenched you, making you shiver. He doesn't know what he was doing then. But he knows why.

This is a bad neighborhood. You can expect that kind of thing. Maybe this little guy just lost his mommy. Or maybe she got mad and threw you out in the rain. But still, he couldn't tell you to go away, knowing that you probably had nowhere to go.

So even though he didn't see himself as a parent, he couldn't help but wonder what it was like to raise a child. How parents feel when they mold a new member of society, like clay.

Well, he also felt sorry for you. Just a little.

Anyway, he did almost everything he could to make you something more than an office worker or a cashier or whatever...

Want to get out of school? Why not? He'll teach you everything himself, they won't tell you the truth about life anyway. Steal a chocolate bar from the store? He'll "accidentally" knock over a stack of cans so you can do your little mischief while the workers are busy fixing his mistake. Go to a party and get completely drunk? Yes, please! Although... aren't you a little young for that?

So he thinks he's the best father in the world, encouraging you to do all sorts of pranks and try things that a normal parent would hesitate to allow. He's a cool dad. He's your dad. Even if he doesn't have a job, his own home and has committed several crimes.

"Hey, brat." - He ruffled your hair with a smile, as you ate your cereal at the table in your house, and looked into the old refrigerator in search of a snack for his nightly marathon of drinking all the alcohol in the world.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, not looking at you, and pulling out sausage and sliced ​​bread from the cold white (well, almost) shelves.