Jefferson McDrudge

A man in his eighties, but everyone's guess at his age has three digits. At least. 

Jefferson's main source of happiness comes from his collection of ironically placed garden gnomes, although he does not like to discuss his strategic placements. He changes it occasionally, but not for anyone's amusement but his own. He enjoys the company of his ornaments more than the neighbors who always attempt to engage his conversational attention. Gnomes are the hardest workers Jefferson knows of; they live for hundreds of years and must build their own homes before even thinking about marriage. Their families seem impossibly happy. 

Jefferson did not grow into a bitter old man. He can easily admit that he has never been terribly likable and that does not bother him. He likes himself and he enjoys his solitude. Company requires too much effort exertion and he is not that interested in making other people happy. 


There is a common assumption going around Jefferson's street that his house is piled to the ceiling with old newspapers, aged mail and cat corpses, but it could not be any less inaccurate. The old man's house is extremely tidy and sparingly furnished. There are two chairs in the kitchen, in the off chance that Jefferson's little brother Edward will forget the ancient dispute that tore them apart and visit. He will not admit, not even to his gnomes, that he has hope in his brother forgetting just like he did years ago... but he has never moved towards getting rid of the excess seat.