I met a onceuponatime stranger at Pleasant Perk yesterday. His name was Scoot. This tall gregarious man with a fake name, give his insight on a vast range of debatable subjects that included Ani Difranco's sexuality, why our feet fall a sleep, why he recently lost hit job, and Cincy's heartland NICE vs. NOTsoNICE record stores employees. I expalined to him that I was moving to a house in the woods and he responded back with a whipping "DO YOU NEED A HAND!" This was not a crazy man (or whatever that means, we all have our own definition)...Scoot was more human than anyone I had met that week. He smiled constantly, looked for the good in all he spoke of (optimism and empathy can be rare to find sometimes), asked what music I liked, what authors I dug (Scoot was reading Erik Larson's The Devil In the White City, one of my most beloved books), what states I've been to, on and on and on... this man went... on and on and I wish most people were like Scoot. I missed him when I left.
I love the groginess of the morning. What a natural, anxious-free mindset we have at this time. For some reason it is peaceful to not have your brain in full-function, which maybe explains a bit about why folks care so tenderly for drugs and alcohol. I have heard that the moments following sex are the most honest times in people's lives. Maybe a combo of the two? Morning Sex?
Also, why in the world do people hold back when they recognize someone? If one thinks that that may have spent time with or known that familiar face previously in life, why not approach? Most people would love to meet you and talk to you.
You are a winner, you are special. You are a grand golden goose.