When I swaggered into the coffee shop, I recognized over half of the people there. Several are regulars of the place -- nodding acquaintances; no names have been given -- and three of them I know from elsewhere. They engage in not strictly for public consumption enterprise, but are all right.
While seated nearby, I heard the word 'gun' mentioned.
No, I'm not asking any questions.
Sometimes the sheer number of people I know in the neighborhood surprises me. Only two or three of them cross my radar when I'm not in Chinatown, and I'm not at all sure they would recognize me outside of a familiar environment.
Middle-aged white dude with a pipe. Against a backdrop of commercial signs and music posters in Chinese. Shop signs, graffiti, advertising.
Outside of Chinatown I'm just a crotchety old goat.
With a body odour of tobacco.
In a world, in a time, in a land, in a land before time, one man, when your world is no longer your own, when everything you know is wrong, in an outpost, on the edge of space, a girl, two girls, now more than ever, a robot renegade cop, you're fired, you're actually fired, I'm fired!
No, I like it in here.
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BRIANWORMS
One of the rightwing hose bags whom I see regularly, because I work in Marin, and attend to poisonous senile old gila monsters, is disturbed...
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