Last night I dined in a smoky cafe. The lady in the counter didn't look much like a lady. But he/she was lookin' my way. I sat across the table from this guy with a shit-eatin' grin. He kept reading from a book of quotes. He started with Baudelaire and by the time he made his way to Voltaire, I had downed three Red Bulls and two chicken sandwiches. By the time I put down my third Red Bull, he looked up to me and said, "Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities." He paused for effect, then continued, "Voltaire." "I know," I said, "I read him too." The lady with a stubble at the counter was talkin' to a trucker and pretending not to look this way but I could see that she was still peekin' our way. I could see her eyes starin' holes through the man-boobs of that big, burly trucker and starin' our way. I don't much like bein' stared at. Fact is, I don't much like anythin' these days. The bloke with the shit-eatin' grin continued reading. "The multitude of books is making us ignorant." My turn this time. He looked up from the book of quotes, visibly impressed. "So, you really do read Voltaire," he muttered. His breath reeked of yesterday's garlic and he was still givin' me that shit-eatin' grin. "I do," I said, "but I hate other people who do. 'Specially the sort who read in smoky cafeterias!" "I'm not reading. I'm waitin' for someone," he said defensively. Shit-eatin' grin still intact. At that moment, a guy in an Armani suit walked in the door. He appeared to know everyone in the joint. Even the man-lady at the counter stopped lookin' our way and turned to wave at the Armani guy. Armani guy returned the greeting with his left hand in a pistol-like manner shooting imaginary bullets at the man-lady. Armani guy was headed our way. Along the way, he greeted many other blokes with the same pistol-fingers emptyin' imaginary bullets at smiling idiots who greeted him. When he reached our table, I stood up suddenly, grabbed the book of quotes from my friend, slapped Armani guy across the face with the hardbound volume before he could shoot any imaginary bullets my way, and proceeded to walk out of the place. Everyone looked shock, most of all, my scholarly friend with the shit-eatin' grin. "I hate cafe-readers but I hate Armani idiots even more." That was my way of an explanation. That will suffice. That is all they're gettin' from me. I walked to the counter, raised a middle-finger to the man-lady and said, "Suck on this!", threw a fifteen down on the counter for the Red Bulls and sandwiches, and walked out. Another night in SIN city. God, I hate this place. Shower o' cunts, all of 'em. Fuck.