I was reading the paper at the coffee shop that has become mine, drinking tea and dunking pieces of a pumpkin lime cookie. Conversations pulse between the jazz, normally they don't play jazz, experimental jazz, music. The staff talk about getting hired, I'm almost envious

"I had two lines shaved through my eyebrow and was wearing a dirty flannel shirt. They asked me what my favorite animal was. I said 'bearrrr?' and got hired on the spot."

A kid who looks worse for the wear says "I get sentenced tomorrow, the day after my woman gets out of rehab..." and it could be a conversation about mutual funds or a church picnic save the bravado when he's talking about his chick. Outside there are nice suits having an after five.

A man with gold chains and a floral shirt, with gray mustache and grandpa hat starts talking to me. About a book he's writing and politics. He has an accent. He "doesn't like the gays," and has "no problem with them or what they do," but thinks "it's fundamentally wrong." Despite the fact that I do like 'the gays,' his quick switch to the erroneous tasering of immigrants distracts my initial politeness political correctness debate [to insert my pro gay stance or not? When? How?] and soon he is having a one man sermon and I'm the congregation.

Something about him is intelligent enough that I want to see what he will come out with next, something about how passively he allows me to sit and observe this speech without having to agree with any of his precepts or conclusions. He talks about how bears try to swim from Vancouver to the island and Jehovah's witnesses, giggling when he says he goes to services because he likes some of the ideas but he doesn't believe that the devil possesses things. I hold my warm tea and let him go, sometimes people need someone to talk to. Eventually, though, I've had enough and he seems to have exhausted his best material and we pick up our respective copies of the paper.

He starts again but the coffee grinder is on high and I don't turn my head.

Eight minutes later, a grapefruit beside my empty tea cup. A round sphere of yellow. A gift. I say "oh, no" but in the end accept at his insistence with his slight accent imploring that I should have this because he "can get another one."

When I go I think he is sad I have ended what he believed to be a very vigorous exchange. He's writing longhand on a pile of papers produced from a neat black leather case. I wish him good luck with the book. I take the grapefruit.

Walking home my earphones are turned up loud, it's beautiful out, that hazy evening light that isn't sunset yet. I stop to see some kind of poster about an eco-fair this weekend. Sustainable, rah, etc. Information. As I'm reading it, someone from nowhere grabs and firmly squeezes, like checking for ripeness, squeezes my left ass cheek.

It's so bizarre I start laughing, awkwardly, well involuntarily spitting an "oh, Fuck. Off". Which makes no sense, the laughing, because I know how inappropriate this was and briefly I question calling the police because maybe this guy is some kind of stalking woman harasser. I look back to notice he seems to be trailing.

There are people and it's light, and I give him a look and he says, "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you stopping and, well, I don't know. Can I get you a cup of coffee?" All behaviors aside, he's young and kind of edgy looking and had he not just done something normally restricted to intimate friends and lovers I might have gone for it.

"No. No coffee. Work on your impulse control."

I advised the woman ass grabber to work on his impulse control. Then, I concluded with "I'm going to walk this way now. You are not", stifling the continued urge to laugh hysterically at whatever is going on, and turned and went home.