I am a person who spends a lot of time writing in coffee shops and libraries. I do this because working from my apartment gets lonely and boring, and because my sink is always full of dirty dishes and I hate being reminded of that fact. I realize I could just do the dishes, but what do you take me for? Someone who tackles their problems directly? Absolutely not.

So I go to these coffee shops, and I sit there and I work, and apparently I am wearing a sign on my back that that says "COME TALK TO ME, AND PLEASE BE AS WEIRD AS POSSIBLE" because this happens constantly.

Take today, for instance. I was working at the library. A man in a suit approached me and asked if he could sit in the adjacent cubicle. I thought he was going to read a book, or work on his laptop, or perhaps take a surreptitious nap before his conference call with a guy named Trent.

I did not think he was going to begin whisper-singing along to screamo music right there in the middle of the periodicals section, but I guess life is full of surprises.

Look, I'm not usually one to tell people where they should or shouldn't be singing along to screamo music. I just thought the public library would be one of those places you’d think of and then think, "Mm, probably shouldn’t."

Twice the librarian came over to tell him to keep his voice down, and twice he apologized before apparently forgetting about the interaction entirely. Within minutes, he was back at it. I could have moved seats, I suppose, but I was drawn to this inexplicable puzzle of a man, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The rest of us are bound by social etiquette and cowardice; he answers to no one, plays by different rules, bows to different gods. And I had questions. Boy, did I have questions. Why had he gone to the library only to whisper-sing in a cubicle? Why was he wearing a suit? Who was this man? Was he a man at all?

Now, he is not the weirdest person I've ever encountered at the public library, but he's up there.
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