I'm typing this on lunch at Fitzsimmons, so it'll be quick.

This past Saturday was the loveliest we've had this year, so I did my usual sunny day thing and went to the Square to wander around. While I was sitting by the fountain, I could hear some biker roll into the area, revving his engine for all to hear. Sounded like he could've used a new muffler to me, but he seemed to thrill at disrupting the soft hiss of the spring breeze his motorized bicycle.

The next thing I new this guy (I think it was the same one) wandered into the fountain area. By now I was on my way out, but I heard him yelling something at total strangers about, "...BUT I'M NOT GONNA!" Then he looked at three Mexican guys on a bench and said, "Como esta? GO BACK TO MEXICO, FUCKIN' MEXICANS!"

This guy was dressed like a cartoon of Dickey Betts in a cowboy hat and dirty boots that he's tucked his nasty jeans into, with sunglasses. Obviously he was drunk as hell. I had to wonder what a guy like this did Monday through Friday to pay for his bike.

As I was walking out he was behind me, and I was wondering what my reaction would be if he said something to me. I was wearing some new steel-toed boots I had just bought, so I was thinking it would be fun to try out the resilience of the steel on his ribcage. Then, of course, I would be the one cuffed up for using excessive force.

Since I'm a white guy I guess he had no interest in me. Instead a black man and woman who I think had a stroller were approaching. "WHERE ARE Y'ALL FROM?!" he yelled. I think they ignored him. Good idea. I got in my car and looked at the freak in my rearview mirror as I drove off. There was a Marietta cop car parked at the edge of the Square. Where were they to grab him for public drunkeness and disorderly conduct? I think I'm bringing my cell phone on future visits to the Square.

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Sunday I was enjoying the sweet smells of Legionnaire's Disease while I cleaned out the basement. I sat down and crossed my legs and noticed a bright pink spot near my ankle. It was likely where my boots had been rubbing the day before, but I also started thinking about a guy I'd seen on TV who got a flesh-eating virus. Then I also thought back about a guy who called the call center a couple of weeks ago and said he'd recently been bitten by a Brown Recluse spider. The bite of these spiders causes your flesh to die and fall off!

At that moment I saw a spot out of the corner of my eye. I turned, startled, but didn't see anything and chalked it up to my imagination. Then I saw it again and turned: there was a big-ass spider staring at me! Not any little ordinary house spider, this one was about the size of a quarter, counting the leg span. Holy shit!

I jumped up and brushed it into the floor and gave it a swat with my loafer. Then I ran to the Internet to read about Brown Recluses. On the Internet's advice I saved the squised bug in a Ziploc bag in case the spot on my ankle got worse, because the remains would be needed for a diagnosis.

However, the spot on my ankle hasn't gotten any worse in 24 hours, so I guess that and the spider are unrelated. I have developed the ability to stick to walls and do incredible acrobatics, though, and I'm working on a web shooter.