Left my folks shortly after I posted. My brother took me to G.R. where I slept on a friend's couch.

I remember layinbg there thinking,"Y'know, its almost scary if I pull this off. Effortless."

I hade made a few phone calls and established a loose plan.

I got a ride to the train station. The pot smoking was incredible. I tipped a kid a buck to watch my bags while I went and got stoned.

The trainstation was desperation centralized. I caught the last train to chicago. At chicago, I walked two blocks, and caught another train to the NW suburbs, where(after a few phone calls) hooked up with my ride back to Denver.

I met a lot of nice people on the way, except for a freak on the metro-train in Chicago. He provoked a viceral reaction of hatred that I get from predators. It was weird and insightful. I have no bias against the mentally ill. Those that prey on the weak...well, that's another story.

He sat down next to me, and started chattering away. I put him through some low-level question and response stuff, which usually satisfies any curiosity. Then I got that feeling, a mixture of hate, anger, and selerity. I saw where he was trying to steer the conversation, knew that he was a public nuisance, and, most likely, was the sort of guy who tries to pick up lost and foundering travelers, to what end...I Don't Know.

I think I, once again, tapped into a therapeutic level. Didn't mean to. However, as I idly batted his questions around, snooping through his subconcious and non-verbal cues, I kept getting that feeling, and thinking of ways to kill him. The hackles at the base of my neck(so to speak) rose.

me (thinking): 'I do not like anyone who preys on fear. Fuck you for even trying. How many people have you hurt? How many people have you scared? You enjoy it, too, you Sick Fuck.'

Then came this moment of eye-contact. The old 'take the measure stare down'. I, of course, did not blink. The freak didn't know what was good for him. Being, like 6'7 or so, and easily 250lbs, he was accustomed to making people afraid.

And then my inner dialouge got real sinister.

"Don't you know, freak...you are sitting next to your death? Right here, and you don't even know it. Sure, you're taller, but so what? I've got everything else. Strength, speed, co-ordination...I could hurt you in so many ways. And I've got a knife. I could take your jugular, and part of your trachea in a flash, and leave you in a pool of your own filth, gasping for life. And then I could finish the job...why not? I'll be out of the state in an hour or two anyway...Dammit. I've got luggage. No quick getaway possible."

He shook my hand, trying to intimidate me with his size and grip. I looked him dead in the eye, and squeezed back, not to cause pain, but as a warning...you don't want to mess with the trouble that lays here.

I kept my cool. I trust my instincts before anything, and they do not lead me wrong. I do not generally think like that, or feel that type of visceral hate. So I believe my subconcious mind picked up on cues I didn't interpret conciously.

The rest of the passengers watched. I think they were surprised. Everyone else seemed to wilt. Fuck him. Its not his world.

I own the ground under my feet. Don't believe me?