SDJ:9 - The Ranting Man; Pocky Stix & wine; slovenly occupiers (April 9th)

4/9 -   

A ranting lunatic of a man at the park is drawing a picture of my left calf.  I've dragged the table over to him.  I say to the calf-sketching artist:  "I don't think they'd catch me based on this, but if they already had me I think they'd be able to confirm my identity based on your drawing."  He laughs at this statement, which reminds me that I was joking.  He is doing a good job of capturing the direction of hair-growth on my calf.

Earlier -

Sitting in the grass at the edge of the park, I hear someone ranting and get up to walk toward the sound of the voice.  A man stands at a gate beyond some basketball courts.  He's yelling and screaming about injustices and such.  As I walk closer, I hear him say:

"I'd really go for some pussy to eat.  Who agrees with me!"  

There are people scattered around but no one will look at him directly.  I sit down at a picnic table and continue to watch the ranting man.  He crosses the basketball courts and onto the lawn - still ranting and meandering aimlessly.  

Grabbing the bench upon which I was sitting, I quickly drag the entire picnic table over to him and tell him to sit across from me.  He does.  He is a tall, skinny, black man who is probably in his early 40's.  

He talks to me for a minute; then a guy comes and sits next to me, saying that he is the Superintendent of this park.  A little kid comes and sits next to the ranting man across the table from the "Super" and I.  He shows the ranting man a page from a small book he is carrying with him.  The words on the page are "Please Leave."

The Superintendent, watching this, says "That is very telling to me."  

At this point, the ranting man begins to draw my calf, in case they need me to come back for further questioning about what has transpired.

Earlier -

Inside a fancy restaurant, I'm placing my empty beer bottle in a dish tub.  I spot my Aunt dining with her two sons; my cousins.  I go to their table and tell my aunt that I don't want to bother them for long - sorry for the interruption - but I just want to give her a hug; which I do.  

Now I'm walking over to a table where my Mom is seated.  A waiter comes to pour her a glass of wine, and she is surprised by the enormous amount that he pours.  It is so much wine that a murmur rises at other tables as people react to this huge over-pour.

My Dad is away from the table when this happens.  A woman comes over and gives me some dark-chocolate Pocky Stix to give to him as a present, since I don't have anything with me.

Earlier -  

Many of us are in the dining room of the old house in South Pasadena.  A couple is telling everyone goodbye.  They walk out to their car to drive home.  

A man here in the dining room with us says he is going to shoot them before they drive off.  He leaves the room, presumably to get his shotgun.  I immediately walk towards the front of the house to go outside and warn the couple before this man can get to them.

Later -

I'm watching the news on my tablet and see a commercial for some pick-up truck that talks about jobs that will become available to truck-owners "once this Occupy movement is over."  

Did I hear that right?  First off, the Occupy movement doesn't seem very strong right now, so it doesn't make much sense to allude to it in the way this commercial has.  There was basically footage of a messy city street following an Occupy rally, and I guess that pick-up truck drivers were hired to clean up the mess left behind by the slovenly Occupiers.  

I suppose it makes some sense for wealthy corporations to slander the movement; I'm just surprised that "Occupy" is currently deemed enough of a threat to warrant attack-advertizements.

I'm crossing a street and see Gabby standing at the corner I'm approaching.  "How do you like this News coverage?" I ask her.  We exchange cynical remarks.

I'm distracted by something that is rolling down the sidewalk, carried by a wind current.  Whatever it is comes to rest on the concrete lid of a water-meter along the sidewalk.  At first I think it's a softball-sized rubber ball, but once it comes to rest it appears to be a balled-up dress shirt.

I ask Gabby how she's doing, and she casually says "Pretty good... other than my friend being murdered last night."

What?!?!

Apparently, this really did happen; although few details are known at this point.  I think that the murdered girl may have been in a dream that I had last night.  I'll have to check my journal.  Since Barnaby is at his Mom's house in Southern California, I may ask him to call Gabby in case she needs someone to hang out with and talk.