We materialize, we drink our coffee, and then we're gone. The baristas may or may not remember our faces for a day or so, as they write our preferences on the white cups with their markers. Permanent markers.

Oh, that was only a fleeting emotion. It's not that stinky, most of the time. But it sure was a crowd of peeps in Starbucks this morning. I always feel like I'm betraying FairGrounds when I sneak into Starbucks, but it's several blocks closer, and in 90 degree weather, I'm the one who's stinky by the time I get to FairGrounds, which, for the record, is by far a better citizen and attracts more interesting people and has a much more comfortable ambience. Okay, okya, I'll go to FairGrounds this afternoon, stinky or not.

I'd like to start wearing a mouth protector to work cause I think it looks cool. You know, that plastic thing that football players wear in their mouths and then spit out in between plays, and it hangs from a strap on their faceguards with spit ropes swinging off it? Of course, then I'd have to wear a helmet, but I don't think I'd mind that. I could listen to my iPod Shuffle and nobody would know. I'd probably look sort of autistic with that get-up on, but I am, kind of, anyway. And I think it would probably help me at my job because people would be afraid that I'd jump up and tackle them on the spur of the moment, so they'd be more inclined to handle me with kid gloves. Not literally, of course, that would be kind of creepy. Don't need more creepiness. It's creepy enough to have a job at all. To go to an "office" and answer the "phone" and have "co-workers" and all that stuff. And sooner or later it leads to having to "step up". And anyone who knows me know that I'm not a step-upper. I'm more of a step-back-into-the-crowd or step-into-the men's-room-until-it-blows-over kind of guy. I'm just not cut out for adulthood, tell you the truth. Which can be a real liability for someone my age.

I still like to pop in at Starbucks every so often and see how my peeps are doing. Yup, same old crowd doing their same old downtown thing. Definitely a different vibe from Ghentyland. Sometimes it seems like everyone has taken a bite of a lemon before coming in. Can this many people be in a bad mood simultaneously? I swear, I can come in and order a coffee,wait for it, take it to the little station and put in the fixings, and walk out, without ever making eye contact with a single person. About which I have mixed feelings, being as I'm probably lucky to not have to exchange social unpleasantries with these sourpusses. Man, I wish I had a nickel for every unreturned smile I've ever put out there in the ether. I'd toss those nickels into a galvanized pail--well, you know the drill.

...like the corners of my mind. Dirt caked in there, bug parts, you name it. My triumphant return to Starbucks sketching. Same old people, standing in the very same positions. One of them saying, "...they're just robbing Peter to pay Paul..." You can't hear that kind of talk at Fairgrounds. No talk of Peter-burglary in ex-Hippie Land. And who's Paul anyway? Some big crime czar who needs to wet his beak or whatnot? Can it be that it was all so simple then?

Yeah, I came crawling back. Well, it's the only place downtown to get a good cup of coffee, corporate monster or not. Don't be a hater.

Don't worry, something will come along.

Muzak keeps telling us how to feel about the places we find ourselves, but we're so damn contrary. They even pump carefully-chosen aromas into stores today. Which I have a way of sabotaging. But we won't get into that.

...and don't it say something that a man could stick out in a crowd because he's happy?

That I am right is easy to perceive. For/and every contact is always a contact of two turnips. Boots must be taken off every day, I'm tired telling you that. Why don't you listen to me?

"LONGER YOU SHORT D11CK NOW some wish," says Fleta Merna. That IS some wish, Fleta. Actually, if my name were Fleta Merna, I'd avoid throwing stones. I'd tend to my own shortcomings rather than pointing out others' junior johnsons. But that's just me.

Speaking of me, I've been invaded by a death squad of microscopic maniacal ninja monsters, who have karate-chopped their way through my bloodstream and are methodically turning my vital organs into oatmeal. That's the way it feels, at least. And if that's the way it feels, then that's the way it is, 'cause I'm a artist!

It was just sitting there, propped up against a chair. People were trying to ignore it, but everyone was afraid to sit at that table. Things are getting kinda weird at this Starbucks. Oddly, it coincides with changing my med regimen. Which is pretty lucky for me, because the decrease of psychoactive substances probably helps me cope with the strangeness of it all.

I missed naked people again last night. We're in the middle of launching several large websites, and it's hard to break away. Especially hard to tell co-workers that I'm going to go sit in a room and stare at a naked man for two hours. One of them will say, "Well, hell, you can do that here! Gimme a sec--"

At the end of this paragraph is one of those spooky boxes with an arrow in it. It's starting to freak me out a little. Where did it come from? What does it want?

August 30th sure rolled around fast this year! It's always interesting to see who gets into the spirit of things, and who acts like everything's normal. Some people get their coffee and sit down to read the paper like nothing's amiss. What's fun is to smack them in the forehead with a plastic ball. That gets their attention.

That guy on the right is not an exaggeration. It's as if I traced a photo, I swear.

I know, I know, I could hardly believe it myself. But there he was, just reading his paper, not a care in the world. The odd thing is, nobody else seemed to notice. Are they so used to seeing naked people in Starbucks that it's not even worth a raised eyebrow? Well, as unpleasant as it was, I felt I owed it to my readership to draw him, so that you would believe it really happened. After all, the pen doesn't lie.