“The unfortunate thing about public misfortunes is that everyone regards himself as qualified to talk about them.” ― E.M. Cioran, The Trouble with Being Born For the last five years I’ve had a very intense relationship with a man in his early 30s. No, not like that. He knocks on my door, I open it. I don’t invite him in. After a brief exchange, I either tell him to wait or I close the door. Once, when the door was open and my back was turned, he crossed the threshold and sat down at the kitchen table. I told him to go back outside. Another time, he sat on the doorsill, half in, legs out. I let him stay there while we conducted our business, but it made me uncomfortable. As it did my wife. “Don’t let him inside,” she said later. This is not because she is mean-spirited. This is because he is filthy and smells like shit.