After running various errands I came home still starving, so I walked down the street to rustle up some dinner. There's a little restaurant/bar called Nikki's, but as soon as I sat down the waitress said, "Oh, that tables reserved." So I asked which table would be okay and she said, "Oh, they're all reserved. Private party at nine." This was at eight, mind you. I was more than a little peeved, and walked out.
On my way out a very drunken woman asks me what I'm reading. "Two Years Before The Mast," says I. (Which was true.) She looked surprised. "Oh, wow, I saw you sitting there reading, and thought you were just another homeless guy with a book."
Now c'mon. Ok, I'm wearing my fairly disreputable looking pirate sweat-shirt, but I had on a pretty expensive pair of Docs for shoes, and nice pants. Yes my hair was all wind-blown, but so was everyone! Certainly this is the first time I've ever been mistaken for homeless. Sheesh. Guess that explains the "private party" nonsense.
Homeless, indeed. They'll see, one day, when I send my Doomsday Squads back to teach them a lesson!
