guess if you're ever looking for something to write about there's
nothing better than the present. There's a guy with a duffle bag
standing behind me... staring. He's clearly a weirdo. He's still
there, less than 2 feet behind me, just standing and staring. Gray
sneakers, balding in the front and longer in back.
Every so often he walks
out of the shop, stands outside of the door for 30 seconds or so
then strolls back in behind me. He's wearing all black. His black-hooded
jacket has a cross on the shoulder, a "Red Cross" type of cross.
I'm at a counter seat in front of the window facing out, so I'm
having some difficulty telling if he's staring at me or staring
over me out the window. He's definitely well within my "comfort
OK, I've just turned
and said "Hi there, how are you?" to him but he only mumbled "Fine.
How are you?"
I gave him a long drawn out "fiiiinnnne" so that I might possibly
sound crazy too. If there's one thing that crazies hate it's other
crazies. I think I'll do a little doodle of him for when the police
report is being written up. He could quite possibly be reading all
of this over my shoulder? That'd be interesting.
All right, he's just
walked outside again. I asked the couple next to me (who are also
very aware of his presence) "If he starts polishing a butcher knife
could you let me know?" They asked me if I knew him, which I do
not, and I've just told them that all they'd have to do is shout
out "HE'S GOT A KNIFE!" and I can take it from there. They laughed...
nervously... because he's walking back in again.
It's been a good 15 minutes
and I've been debating on asking him "If I move to another seat
are you just going to stand behind me there too?" ... and there
he goes out the door again.
I just asked the couple
if he's staring at me or out the window. They told me, "he's staring
at both. Out the window and at the back of your head."
This time he's left the
duffle bag on the floor, behind me. It's big enough to fit four
or five newborn babies in. Only half an adult though. And back in
he comes. I don't know what to do. If I hear a scream or an "Oh
my god!" I am going to plunge this ball point pen into his eye.
Don't worry, I'll sit back down and write about that too. Ha! That'd
go something like this: OK, I just plunged my pen into his eye.
He's running around the store knocking over tables and screaming
really really loud. Hey, did that lady just wink at me?
And there he goes, out
the door again... with his duffle bag... running to catch the bus.
No knife in my spinal column, no punch in the back of the head,
he didn't even box my ears. Just hopping on the southbound bus outta
here. OK then, I guess it's back to the hate mail. It's good to
One last interesting
note. It's been about 15 minutes since he left here and I've just
noticed a little booklet lying on the floor where that duffle bag
If my limbless torso
washes up onto the shores of Lake Michigan you folks can direct
the investigators to the sidebar on page 82 of Hate Mail, OK? You'd
do that for me, right?
You're the best.