Some Pseudo-Philosophical Clap Trap

Can a person ever get used to being lonely?

I used to know a guy when I was a kid. Nice enough fellow. My mom allowed me to recieve candy from him. He wasn't that old but goodamn he was frail. Cancer or something. I never knew. The few times I'd see him, going to the mailbox or tending his garden, he carted around an oxygen tank. In my youthful fantasy I said it was his helper-droid or his treasure holder. I never saw him outside of our freshcut suburban neighborhood. I never saw a car outside his house. I never saw a grandchild, sun or daughter.

He died of whatever necessitated the oxygen tank.

It was a solid two weeks before I asked my mother where the nice guy with the candy went,