writing a short story

announcing it because I haven't written prose in forever
it is called
"The Man Who Turned Out to Know Absolutely Everything"

and it begins,

There was, I recall, a man who knew absolutely everything. He had almost nothing to say about it, and had never really held down a job. He and his wife had long ago split up; he had gotten used to living with only one of his children; he visited Chinatown and bought and ate fried Ramen with chives for lunch every other day except Sunday. He often purchased this same brand of Ramen for the neighbours who could stand him, and convinced them, and himself, that he had been so lucky as to find the one really great brand of Ramen for such a price, and that he was doing them a marvellous favour. He used to buy thirty or sixty at a time. When he visited, they ate it together, and sipped discount chai tea afterward. It was very poor Ramen. All the same, this man knew absolutely everything.