almost gone john

John is a painter by trade and lives in the basement of the house I am renting. He's a morose son of a bitch. Tall, thin and laconic. He mopes around, lamenting his lack of work, but he don't seem to try too hard to get any. Instead, he sits in the dark, "just thinkin' about things". That's what he told me. I figure him for an imminent suicide. Figure each time I go downstairs to the laundry room, I might find him hanging from the floor joists.
I ain't seen him around lately. Neither hide nor hair. Maybe he's on the lam. Maybe he's just gone or almost gone. Later John.