When I went to pick up coffee this morning, there is some old guy who reads the paper most mornings and then looks up from the paper, and if you are even remotely looking anywhere in his vicinity, bitches unintelligibly to you (or anyone) about newsprint getting on his hands. And you want to say, “Stupid motherfucker, why don’t you just stop reading the paper then?” But he’s clearly off, so you don’t dare. If you hurry up and change your line of vision, like you were watching the TV and not looking at bitching mentally-off newspaper guy, he turns around and starts watching TV too. It’s sort of sad, but it also sort of tickles me—probably out of fear—because I know I am just mentally about one step behind the guy. He should probably be in a now nearly non-existent State Home, and I have to wonder how he gets up to the store. Hopefully the fucker walks or bicycles and doesn’t drive. THE THOUGHT.