I imagine the best place to start . . .

is in my corner bar seat, watching the world stumble by. A billiards player, cue in hand, invades a trio in process of ordering,

“Do you have next game?”

“I don’t” offers a guy.

“I’m looking for who put their name down… He was a very normal looking guy.”

This “normal looking guy,” dressed in darker tones with a black snapback facing forward, didn’t appreciate being termed ‘generic’, especially coming from a dude in merlot paisley pants, consisting of rusts and oranges splashed across narrow, tapered, white satin trousers.

I’ve been both, the generic and the eccentric, the former as I gain confidence and stability, the latter as a distraction in a former life.