As two young men walked up, a couple of girls at the coffee shop said, “There are those two guys again. They’re going to keep coming around all the time, now. They think because we hung out the last three days with them, we’re their girlfriends now.”
Asher, who was fixing a PC on the spot for one of the girls (never leave a downed PC behind), responded “You ARE their girlfriends. Those are the rules. You hang out with them three times, and you’re their girlfriends.” When the girls protested, Asher added, “It doesn’t matter if you know the rules, like the rules, or agree with the rules. The rules work anyway. You’re their girlfriends, now.” They laughed and Asher smiled a long smile.
I’m breaking in a new barista. She said something quite familiar tonight: “Asher, you have no filter.” Indeed. Another one gets the imprint. 
Asher often amuses himself by playing with people the way a kitten plays with a moth or a hamster. Occasionally, when he’s done with one of them, he’ll lay him or her at the feet of one of his friends, and go find another. Other times, also much like a kitten, he’s equally disinterested and would prefer to bask in his own inner thoughts.
Asher’s latest amusement is in agreeing with his critics, which seems to frustrate and bewilder them. If someone says he’s weird, he replies, “Yes, I’m delightfully idiosyncratic.” If they wave away something he’s said with “whatever”, he’ll say, “Well, it might as well be that, then.” To the charge of arrogance he has many replies, but all of them are some sort form of gratitude and agreement. In the end, Asher has said, “it’s more fun to play with things that are slightly stunned and off-balance, especially if you can set them bumping into each other. If not, just as good to eat them.”
The weather is perfect. Usually, Asher doesn’t care about the weather. He never brings it up, and never complains. Being too cold or too hot is for other people; Asher compensates.
Today, though, you can reach up and touch the clouds. The buildings are swimming in them. Black, purple, grey, and furious, rolling in like foot soldiers of the storm. Asher loves it. He must go out. Even if it’s a tornado, he has to go out. He’s leaving… now.
“Go where people are.” – Mr. Glass, in Unbreakable
Sometimes Asher’s superpowers only work when he’s in a crowd. In the film, Unbreakable, Mr. Glass suggests that sometimes people of extraordinary ability become more of who they are, more of their true selves, in crowded places. At least, enough is pushed out by the pressure, that it can help them discover who they are, even if it’s who they are in a deep well of solitude.
Besides the fact that, if he’s ‘on’, Asher is really good with crowd “management”, he can actually work best in crowds, if history is any gude. He’ll sit down in a vast, open cafe or coffee shop, with people everywhere, and in a fury of creativity and need, he’ll work. He’ll write. For those who might have been wondering, this is still true.
I found a new coffee shop. Apparently, it’s going to fit reasonably well. I have three, now, and am scouting a fourth. Different hours, different times, different purposes. The least comfortable contrasts are generations and subcultures. All but one appear to be haunts for the young and the young middle class – the conformists. They still think some things are weird, and fear finds their faces easily, fear of being touched by the unknown. So many hippy outfits, but underneath is a kind of fascism. The other is more of a hippie place, with lots of older people, and it’s far more accepting, with a wider latitude for the bizarre. Of course that can be a mixed blessing. But it’s like home-cooked food, or dining at a mom and pop place – you expect unpredictability and inconsistency, and it’s part of why you like it. The rest is the Starbucks impulse.
When I’m nice to women and pay attention to them, they like me, find me charming, and show interest. It’s when they really get to know me that they change their minds.
In most cases, I skip straight to that part.
Asher turned a few times, and stretched in his sleep, clutching the pillow, and going from fetal position to back and back to fetal. Someone was there, occasionally watching him toss, and knowing it was time again, at last. Twilight, and Asher was waking up. He felt her brushing past his leg hanging off the bed, touching his hair for a moment. Dusk, and he opened his eyes, he was the sole body in the room. And it was an ordinary room, ordinary sheets, with the cool air pouring in hard – the only way he can sleep – and the sound of the ceiling fan was like a metronome. But she hadn’t left. He’d have known that much, if he thought about it in the front of his brain. But she stayed in the softer parts of his mind, like a suggestion, and he flexed and felt strong. Dark, and the moon was half in shadow. He was himself, and he stood up and went out.
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