"I'm lonely. It's hard for me sometimes, living by myself."

Loneliness is one of the terrible afflictions of life, and something that we have all most-definitely felt.

For old German Frank here, it’s a daily feeling.

I’ve always wanted to capture Frank with my pixel trap, ever since I took a miss-focused shot of the late-arvo sun making a halo of his bushy caveman hair; cigarette in mouth down at the local pub, deep in the sticks where my dad lives.

Some days, with patience, you get that spring of light you imagine.

I got it the day I took this photo, being the fortunate young man I am.

Dad and I went for a Saturday morning cruise after we reinflated the flat tyre on his car. Driving down one of the winding roads in his neighbourhood he offered to stop by Franks and take some photo’s, I wasn’t-at-all hesitant in my choice.

A couple of hundred feet down a Wattle lined driveway was a ramshackle old house decorated with the remains of a failed renovation attempt, and the usual signs of human life laying in harmony with moss and trees.

Cobweb infested windows and stark brown curtains frame an old red Everyready torch.

Dad turns a key in the front door and a Red-heeler dog slips out and around our legs, a dimly lit room with books and objects sprawled over, nests a man unwrapping himself from a coverless grey quilt [link] . Book cases full of dusty books and a TV from a past era seem to be Frank’s home entertainment.

We move back outside into the morning sun with a few chairs, the air is crisp and the smoke from two cigarettes willows for longer than normal.

Nothing but regular customs as Frank walks down the backyard a few metres for that anticipated morning leak [link] .

Combing his malting dog Rusty numerous times [link] while piles of hair fall to the ground; “Get a picture of Franky with the comb up to his face as if he was doing his ‘stache!” – And that I did, and it was good to see the grumpy old bastard laugh for once.

After capturing the epic moment of my dad dig for a winner [link] (when I said the air was crisp, I was too referring to the snot in his nose), I walked around the house and photographed the little details [link] , while Rusty the dog joined me [link] (I’m a bad, bad man).

After sitting back down, Dad decided to go and get Frank a pack of cigs and the paper, leaving me to hang and reminisce with old Frank.

“I’m in another world to everyone else ‘cause I live alone, and people just make the assumption that I can’t look after myself.”

“It’s difficult when I don’t have anyone to talk to. Conversation’s the biggest thing because I can’t share my thoughts, and people think I’m fuckin’ mental in the head, but I’ll tell you I’m not, I’m still here, more than half the people my age.”

I learnt that Frank was ripe old 70.

"People come and see me every now and then, keep me company for an hour or two, but it’s not enough you know, I get stages where I’m good for a while, and then I just go downhill. I could go to a home where they look after me, I’ve been to one over the hill but there’s people there half my age that are gone already, it’s hard to handle when you’re around it all the time, a little is alright but not all the time.”

Dad returned with the death-sticks and paper, almost ready to keep travelling.

As Frank got his reading glasses from inside, I took the liberty of making a frame or two of the interior [link] .

A few more cigarettes were inhaled [link] , and a photo of Frank and I [link] wrote to my memory card before we left Frank alone, once again [link] .

“See you again when you’re 71 Franky!”

“I might not be around then mate. Ahh fuck it, don’t make plans we’ll just see what happens.”