This half-black half-filipino guy talks to me and tells me he’s a Raiders fan, a Lakers fan and a USC fan. I accuse him of being an incarnation of the devil. I tell him my dad is open to me dating any ethnicity or type except he says no Raider fans. And I can’t stand Lakers and USC fans. What’s your name?, I ask him.
Aristotle, he says.
Some trick, I think.
Birthday 1/27/78. He shows me his license but he thinks I must be born in 82. His friend Ray Solomon, a delicate olive-skinned guy with exotic eyes is his sidekick. He offers his birthday. 4/28/74. I tell him two of my friends have the same birthday and they’re the same year.
He says he wants to play basketball with me. Or just shoot around and he could give me some pointers. Naive dipshit. What part of that would I find enjoyable. I told him that offer was patronizing. But he has a sweet smile so I’m not rude to him.
They say I’m really tough when I won’t give them my number but are still polite enough to say it was nice meeting me.
I flip through time zones on my watch seeing what time it is around the world.
Sometimes I feel like a panther in a world of geese. Sometimes I don’t know anymore.