As a kid, probably like most kids, when people would ask me how I’m doing I’d just say,“Fine.” And that was that. Hell of a technique because if any kind of conversation were to continue the other person would have to prompt you and it becomes this question and answer thing, the answer almost always being simply, “Yes,” “No,” or “Fine.” Holy Shit! I’m at this fairly unbusy café in Edgemont Village as I tap this out in my iPhone and I’m the only one sitting at this bar at the open windows and just now this guy plants his cart(?) right next to me. And sits in it. Double yew tee eff? I looked and he’s seriously an inch and a half from me. Ok deep breath, Patrick. Weird. Ok now he’s gone. I’ll never understand other people’s measure of personal space. To them the world is this place where people are just bumping in to each other all the time. “Your space is my space.” Even when I lived in crowded Osaka you never see people

voluntarily get in each other’s space. Big loud sigh. I need a force field around me or something. Reminds me of this one-day seminar I took a few months ago on using the subconscious mind. Some of it was good, some of it was flaky, and one of the flaky parts was the suggestion to picture a “protective cocoon of light” around whatever you want protected. Perhaps I should try it before I knock it. Ok, I’m trying it right now. I’ve got this glowing shell of white light around me and it’s saying, Fuck you” indescriminantly. And so far so good.

Where the hell was I? Some boring piece about how as adults it’s not socially acceptable to just reply to “How are ya?” with “Fine.” And for that to mean, “Ok, are we done?”. That was the point of the piece I guess. No real need to extrapolate any further I suppose. You get the idea: not crazy about small talk.