His condition prevented him from getting the autographs of his idols. Make-A-Wish created a personal form rejection for him. He improvised. He sweat. He collected sweatshirts. Never washed them. He marked time by personalwear. Sweatshirts tacked to his walls. The shirt, above the mirror,  he wore for every TJ Hooker episode. Every season.

Thirtyfive years ago he sent a fresh insaturate shirt to Farrah Fawcett-Majors. It was nicely done, professionally sealed under glass in a happyface polka dot frame.

The city has declared his room more toxic than Love Canal. I am tasked with the bagging and tagging of his life, under the glaring eye of  Representative, the Fawcett estate.

No one will miss one tube sock, slipped into hazmat vest.