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I have to take a moment to laugh, I mean I call this place the 9th circuit of hell for good reason. It is totally like being a Mad Alice trapped in Twisted Wonderland where up is down and down is up and somebody wearing a loin cloth with a bone through his nose really can walk up to you and accuse you of being delusional and weird. Than there was the Man in the Black Trench Coat that came down the alley and scooped up a dead crow, tucked it in his pocket, and simply walked off into the fog as if this were perfectly normal.

I really need to stop people watching. It’s just not a healthy activity around here.

It is not as if I am always reasonable myself. A homeless pigeon higher than a kite but also suffering some kind of organic brain issue, got a bit snippy with me last week and started saying something about having a shank, which I suspect was probably really just a plastic spoon, but I didn’t care. I was ready to take her and her spoon on right then and there. It didn’t come out very aggressive however, it sounded more like the pathetic cry of a woman already over the edge. Go ahead lady, bring it on. Kill me now and I won’t have to go to work.

I meant it too, and she wasn’t expecting it at all. I actually scared the crap out of her, which than made me laugh like a mad woman, which really rattled her cage, caused her to back up, and run down the street in terror. Than I actually felt guilty! Here I am scaring some poor woman who just wants to get high all day and threaten to shank random strangers. I mean who can blame her? I empathize deeply there.

No seriously, I felt guilty for snapping at her. Since this is the land of bleeding hearts, naturally I also got several dirty looks from people who wouldn’t get their own hands dirty if you paid them, but they can shame everyone else for allegedly not showing enough compassion. I should have just shanked my own self right then and there and  provided a proper spectacle.

I really am trying to maintain a good attitude, but this stuff just gets on my last nerve sometimes. I am doing my best to pull silk purses out of sow’s ears, over and over again, but it is not easy. At the coffee shop however, we did spot this odd thing in the sky that might have been cloud or a remnant of a jet, but it just didn’t look right.

“Chemtrail,” said one man. “Asteroid,” said another. “It could be a missile from North Korea,” said the last one, right before Fluffy Bunny, a remnant of hippy days gone by, says in her little girl voice, “I think it’s a beautiful unicorn that wants to sprinkle us with chi.” Of course you do. Of course, it’s probably just a chi unicorn. Why didn’t I think of that?

Then this nerdy guy looks at me sadly and says, “Space debris. Old satellites. They’re the size of school buses and there are hundreds of them up there. Nasa says most of them will land in the ocean.” Then he says, “Too bad we live so close to the ocean.”

“Space debris?” I quizzed.

“Yep, if one of those school buses lands on your head, you’re dead,” he said, and a certain gleam came to his eye, as if the possibility of my getting crushed by a school bus-sized piece of space debris was the most encouraging thought he’d had all day.

Believe it or not, his excitement was infectious, becasue by the time the day was done, I too found the idea of getting squished by a long dead satellite rather encouraging.