DUMBBELL ... AT 7TH AND MONTANA!

Boy do I feel like a dumbbell.  There I was at 7th and Montana this morning, tempting fate, commenting on how quiet it has been lately, when the floodgates opened.  "Gee," I said, "We haven't had any loons around here for a while."  And it's true.  Except for the growing pile of dog feces at 7th and Georgina, it's been a pretty quiet summer.  And then it happened.  An Anonymous Loon headed my way screeching "Rivers of Blood, Rivers of Blood."  He was a thin, young man in his mid-twenties with a crazy glint in his eye and a baseball cap on his head.  He carried a dumbbell in one hand, wrapped in paper, which he used for emphasis, much like a professor with a pointer.  "Only  the Pure Bloods will survive," he cried, "Hells-a-poppin'!"  He babbled on and on breathlessly for 20-minutes.  "Maybe he gets paid by the word," I said.  And then the police arrived, donned their rubber gloves and escorted him away.  Whether he was on drugs or just unstable, I hope he gets some help.  Meanwhile, next time I start wondering why it's been so quiet at Our Favorite Starbucks, I'll keep my mouth shut ...