Exterior -- Steff's Apartment Building -- Night

Prologue: A man of Middle Eastern descent lives in my apartment building, on the ground floor. He's one of these guys that glares at you when you pass him, drinks constantly, and who is always building things in his living room. He has a futon, a table, and technological gadgets everywhere -- tools, precision building equipment, etc. That is, on the rare blue moon the window blinds are wound open. I'm waiting for Tom Waits to reprise his "What's He Building in There?" about my co-tenant.

Me, I think the guy's a freak. GayBoy, he thinks he's a terrorist.

Scene: Steff and GayBoy talking in the frigid February night as GayBoy's scooter warms up for the ride home.

GB: Hmm. He's not home.

S: Who?

GB: The Terrorist.

S: Would you stop calling him that?

GB: Well, he's not home.

S: He's probably at the bar.

GB: Oh? A drinker?

S: I see him at the bar.

GB: Yeah, well, in his line of work.

S: Shush. I think the manager's mentioned something about his drinking.

GB: In that line of work.

S: Like, having to prop him up at the door on numerous occasions, apparently.

GB: Yeah, I've heard that can be a problem.

S: In that line of work.

GB: Exactly.

S: Oh, come the fuck on. You'd think Al-Quaeda would have classes on how to be inconspicuous. "Now, when you establish your sleeper cells, avoid renting ground-level garden apartments with large bay windows in the living room, where you design and assemble your chosen weapons of mass destruction."

GB: Well, fuck! They ain't making 'em like they used to.

S: Right, anyone can get into Al-Quaeda now.

GB: Looks that way!

S: The manager says he claims it's a sewing machine. No, a knitting machine. There have apparently been comments.

GB: Fucking right there have, I bet.

S: Why don't you just report him to CSIS,* then?

GB: They probably already know about the fucker.

S: Right, the knitter with a drinking problem on the ground-level front-of-building suite.

GB: Ain't makin' 'em like they used to.

S: Clearly. Night.

________________________

Yep, just another fine conversation. Really. What's he building in there? Fuck, man. But you know what? GayBoy and I have at least one totally preposterous conversation like this a night. You know what I'm really looking forwards to about unemployment? More of our random chance encounters, those ALWAYS have a moment like this. I should just start trying to write some of these out sometimes. Hmm. Mental note. :)

And for those who miss them, coming up soon are retrospective stories from my past:

*When I was thrown from a horse in the Yukon (GayBoy was there, too)
*When my car accident got me on TV
*When Norm and I chased the forest fire
*When "Jerry Garcia" ate his marijuana on the bus
*The Waterbed Murder that happened six condos down from me in the Yukon

And I'm sure there's more. I've been regretting not writing about more of the strange events that have unfolded in my life, and I know they'll start slipping as I amass more and more of them, so... I'm on a mission, and it's happening here, same bat-time, same bat-channel. In theory. ;) It ain't a matter of inspiring me, honey, it's a matter o' settin' me on down long 'nuff.

*Canada's foremost intelligence agency. Shh. Be vewwy, vewwy qwiet. They're listening.