-10 minutes after that.-

Red-tail and I were this close to getting thrown out of the Mad Mex in South Oakland. I call him Red-tail, because, at the time of this telling, I have forgotten his name, and he has red hair tied up in a pony-tail. Red pony-tail is two syllables, too long. Hence, Red-tail.

We hadn't done anything wrong, but Mad Mex closes at 1 A.M. - it was 10 minutes after that. We're talking about chairs, upended on tables. The staff puts on the music they can't play during normal business hours.

And lights. Oh, those harsh, unforgiving lights.

Tie-dye approaches with a determined look in her eye - not the plexi-glass one. I flash her the recognition symbol, and she mouths a small "oh" and disappears into the kitchen.

"I just don't understand why - how - why she would.." sobs Red-tail.

The rest is unintelligible.

"Nothing worth knowing can be understood with the mind... Everything really valuable has to enter you through a different opening, if you'll forgive the disgusting imagery."*

His response, less intelligible than the first, nevertheless communicated a clear agenda of violence.

"I have a very low threshold of death."** I stammered, unknowingly making the matter worse. But there's no fight left in Red-tail. I slap a Jefferson down on the bar and steal off into the mighty dark evening, losing myself in the hordes of amateur mixologists.

* Woody Allen, from Manhattan.
**Allen again, from Casino Royale.