I couldn't sleep so decided to get across town before traffic.  Not much open at 5am but coffee shops.  And I like coffee shops, and the 5am silence when I'm up to hear it.

Figured I'd crank out some good reading and writing.

But apparentely Richard couldn't sleep either.  He wreaks of homeless and talks of business.  Seems to know every face that passes and likes to talk about every face that doesn't.  Says he's had cancer for twelve years and was in prison for six.  He details cars for a living and knows uncanny details that would leave Jepordy champs speechless.  "Shares peace with pot."  Loves Jesus, but won't call himself a Christian.  "Spiritual," he says, "but right when you claim a damn religion, people the Truth."

Richard hasn't stopped talking for close to an hour.  In fact there's no way I could've grabbed ten minutes to write this had some seemingly well-known woman with a dog shown-up. 

His phrases make a lot of sense, but when you try to string 'em together, they're absolute garble.  Every sentence seems to summarize a point of his sixty or so years.  I guess in some ways this makes him seem holisic, able to integrate his span of living throughout his present.  But in other ways, it makes him seem really isolated, unable to hold enough awareness of his present, to have any holistic semblance of his past.