Andrew Gold,
not quite an anarchist, yiddishist, or tzaddik was mistakenly diagnosed
with Asperger’s Syndrome at nineteen years old when his selfish
bitch of a primary caretaker (who also happened to be his maternal
aunt) threw him like a dog into the street, one rainy morn. The
interviewing psychiatrist for Social Security Income happened to be more in love with pipe
tobacco and a similarly antiquated diagnostic criteria than reading the
latest journals—resources that could have educated him on the
recent discovery of LDSD (Life Disliterary Soul Disorder). This often
misunderstood illness afflicts the patient with the same psycho-mental
weight as that of a genius author but without the impetus to actually
write. Lacking the needed verbal discharge to healthily disperse this
weight, the patient’s psychical economy effectively shuts down
social business. It should be noted that Andrew Gold dresses in a
manner very much like that of an early 20th century Eastern European
Jewish author with appropriate hat, suit, tie. Just the same, he is
destined to spend the majority of his life in the Brookline Adult
Residential Facility where he will engage in sadly inane conversation
until his death.