Just focus on your work. You tell yourself as the homeless guy yells at somebody sitting in “his” seat. He’s making quite a scene as you find interest in anything but what’s happening right next to you. Oh, look… my pocket has lint! Wow – I never knew that was there. What’s this? My shoelace needs to be stared at for several seconds because it looks like they might come untied in next several days. I gave up on tying and untying my shoes a long time ago. Now I just pull them on using my pointer and middle fingers as shoehorns. Wow, he’s really agitated! He’s sliding chairs around violently encircling the space where he currently stands. Just ignore him – just ignore him. I’m sure he’ll go away when he’s tired. I was tired last night – I really wanted to finish watching Mr. Robuck on Universe network – I really don’t like the show – but I have this thing about the media I consume. If I start a show, I have to watch it all the way through or I feel like I’m going to miss the good part that makes it all worth it. It never is. I’m very selective about what I allow to let me down. It’s difficult to choose a new show because you have to read a lot of reviews without reading spoilers. I leave the tv off for months at a time. Shit! He’s pulling literal feces out of his pants and writing on the tablecloth in front of me. Just don’t look – you didn’t budge when he held up a likely soiled prophylactic announcing that he’s just won the Oscar for best Internet! You’re sure as hell not budging because of a little shit-smell. Don’t look. Especially don’t watch the news. I can’t watch the news because it never ends. I made the mistake eight years ago of watching GNN news on cable – I couldn’t leave. I was stuck to the living room and couldn’t leave for a couple months. When I couldn’t pay my rent or bills, they cut everything off. I was homeless for like…ever. I went really nuts, I think.
OMG, just ignore him. He’s staring at me now – he’s holding up the tablecloth with a near photo-realistic image of who looks like Mrs. Sharp, my sixth-grade math teacher. So weird. So random. He really looks familiar. Look down. Don’t make eye contact. Mrs. Sharp was the first one to see how unique I am. She said I could do anything, except sometimes I would go off on wild tangents and insisting that “I’m the Emperor of Japan!” I don’t remember this happening, but I guess it did. Oh, no – here he comes. Ignore him. Ignore him. Igno… He lunges at me and I defensively throw my arms up to block him but he’s on me now – like one of those MMA guys! He takes my hands and wrestles my arms behind my back. I’m sitting in the chair flailing my legs but get no purchase. The tablecloth is sort of draped on my head as he holds my face to the table. Nobody is helping, they’re all just scurrying through the door and to the sides of the BarStucks Coffee House. Through a little gap in the fabric I see an old man sipping his fucking latte with three pumps of vanilla. The smell is awful and I think I taste a little bit of Mrs. Sharp as he expertly ties the knot around my neck whispering “Shhh… it’s your turn, now.” I hear sirens in the distance coming closer and I think “Thank God!” I try to spit out the piece of Mrs. Sharp but I’ve been holding my breath and my gasp of air brings her left earlobe deep into my mouth and I gag as it gently caresses my uvula. The weight is lifted as he shouts “It’s your turn!” I bolt upright and fling my new cape back and vomit all over my chest and legs – my breakfast, pieces of Mrs. Sharp now dripping to the floor. My watery eyes begin to clear as I look up to see my homeless assailant is nowhere to be found. “Where’d he go?” I shout while springing to my feet and start out the door. My left foot loses traction on top of bile and half a burrito I vaguely remember finding. I burst outside forgetting that a shitty Mrs. Sharp is dropping the artistic medium all over the coffee shop floor. I try to find the man to let the police know who it is but he’s just in the wind – nowhere in sight. Two police cruisers roll up code-3. Three officers Jump out of the patrol cars while I’m yelling “He’s getting away! Get him!” They point their tasers at me as people in the BarStucks frantically point at me through the window to tell the police I’m not the bad guy. I fall to the ground as the current runs through me. As I come to my senses, I’m handcuffed and they’re pushing me towards the closest cruiser after a brief argument that ended with “because I’m the Sargent, that’s why!” I have to tell them. “You have the wrong guy! You have to chase the other one!” I scream so as not to be misunderstood. “You’ve got the wrong guy! I’m the Emperor of Japan!”
