Wait, what?

This has nothing to do with anything, except for the fact that I shared the 6:00 Irving Park bus with a kid that was the living equivalent of Nathan, age 14 (aka MMC2). I couldn't stop looking at him over my book and I couldn't look at him directly because it would be really creepy for me to openly stare at the kid. Can you imagine that conversation?

Me: Oh good lord. You look just like I imagine the 14 year old version of a character in a story that I wrote would look.

Kid: Who are you?

Me: Can I take a picture of you for reference?

Kid: I'm calling the cops now.

This, combined with the fact that I told someone I was going to hit Falafel Palace for lunch (when it exists only in my apparently diseased brain), makes me wonder if it's time to up my medication. I did have a falafel sandwich for lunch, though. At a non-fictional place.