You know, I hope that some day, even if it's right before the bombs hit, people will realize that white guys can be assholes just like black guys, or Jews, or Muslims.

At Starbucks tonight, my talkative buddy Stan came and told Larkin and I stories of violence, racism, rape, and all that gritty real-world stuff. It seemed he would never stop; his topics ranged from the paranormal to the neo-Nazi movement to Aztec cigarettes to corrupt Christianity to dream interpretation. I actually didn't mind too much. It seems that every time I get a little out of touch with reality, you know, reality--what's really out there, not peaceful idealistic movements, but mass slaughter and religious crusade--Stan comes and puts me back on Earth, and yet, a little farther away from it, in a healthy sense, so that I can still watch from a safe vantage point. It somehow helps me to hear the opinions of someone who's completely on the opposite side of everything I stand for (and he's not really offensive at all, which makes it pleasant). It's like he's one of those strange, wandering wise men (and he is smart, despite his way of seeing things) who's brought along by fate occasionally to set me in the right direction, because every time I see him, he's had at least five new life-changing experiences to tell me about, and he's always got lots of time to tell them.