Not Jason

I was getting coffee and a choc chip muffin this morning. My late week staple when things have largely started going sideways on me. A heavy set, bearded, behemoth gets out of his truck wearing a camouflage bomber jacket and sporting a Glock on his thigh. On the side of the truck is emblazoned ‘Argon security’.

He orders coffee and we stand together.

‘Would you consider yourself an “Argonaut”‘, I venture casually. He gives me a look like I’m mentally challenged. I point at the truck, ‘Argon’… as if to underscore my point.

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He gives me another look that I interpret as ‘are you high?’ God I wish I was…

Maybe they’re named after the inert noble gas? Although that makes no sense to me. I feel that I’m loosing this particular battle however and that he is no mood for chit-chat. I sigh. ‘Nevermind’. I guess were not going to be discussing the modern warriors penchant for tarn-fleck over golden sheep’s wool.

He’s ordered a caramel Macchiato. I judge him… albeit silently.

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