"God is so Damn Sneaky"

Sermon title? Nope. The exclamation of an Anglican hooker when she saw Father Kim and I in the bar.

I was about 2 feet inside the door of another unnamed tavern when one of the customers dropped a HUGE "F-Bomb."

If you don't know what that is, email me, or ask your granddaughter.

OK, this is the guy who goes to the conservative Lutheran church, the guy who's always trying to engage me with discussions about the difference between a cross and a crucifix (and what he wants to know, do they both work on vampires?)

That whole end of the bar is getting louder and louder. It's politics and alcohol. Something must give. The Jaeger girls and several buxom customers have created a maelstrom of testosterone.

Meanwhile downtown: ran into Bruce B, really happy to see each other. Bruce and I are on the corner, recalling old fights at Nightwatch from a dozen years ago. A guy interrupts, looking for bus fare to Northgate -- so he said. Bruce, 15 years homeless (and looks it) whips out two bucks and gives it to him. Later, Bruce tells me "I'd rather have him rip me off than you."

Now, the guy needing bus fare looks like a 40 year old business guy, the sort of guy who would work in a lab, or an insurance office. Neat, trim, decent clothes. He takes the two bucks from the homeless guy who has been on the street for 15 years. What?

Twenty minutes later, the middle-aged insurance sales guy is walking down the street at Third and Bell, looking for all the world like he finally found his drug connection. Was I surprised?

Nope. Maybe I've been doing this too long.