word count: 7615
+/-:2381

First, I notice that they speak in better sentences that I ever have, even if they are a bit obsessed with the minutia, and who can really blame them for that -- you try spending your days with your only worries about getting enough spaghetti sauce and what time you're playing ping-pong. Jesus, that sounds beautiful.
I suppose they do have bigger problems than that, especially the ones who think the CIA is out to get them, or that the Maharishi is personally brainwashing you, but you have to admit, a little spice like that in your life might be just what you're looking for. But really, you've got to learn to keep your cool, because otherwise you're going to end up scaring off everyone in your life. People don't tend to like to hear that sort of shit, and they're going to skip out on you the first chance they get. That's why all these guys have nowhere to go but their halfway house and this café, their home away from their home away from home. And they have nothing to do but annoy and generally creep out the folks that come here. They're rarely harmful, and they're often amusing, but more often than not, it's just more than you ever want to deal with.
"I love the Gateway. They have steak and they have pork chops and they have shrimp and they have salad and they have everything you could ever want."
"Gateway's okay."
"Okay? Okay? Gateway's the best! Oh man, they have salmon and swordfish and…"

Shut the fuck up! But it's not me yelling that, it's not anyone yelling that. It's the fervent wish in my head, the words reverberating in my skull, their words reverberating in my skull as if I'm having a conversation with myself about this particular restaurant. I try to chase it away…

…I am the calm center of the universe I am the calm center of the universe I am the calm center of the universe…
…but it doesn't work. It never does.