A different flavor than the schizophrenic gal, at least.
Topheavy musclebound dude with a shaved head and 'prison workout' written all over him (almost literally- blurry homemade tats on the knuckles of all ten fingers) comes in acting sketchy and wondering where to find Voltaire.
I direct him appropriately.
Later he returns to the counter.
"Uh hey man...I'm looking for this other philosopher? Maybe you've heard of him? *sotto voce* Alister Crowley?"
We've actually got one shelf of in our Metaphysics section labeled "Crowleyana", so I guide him over, but there was none to be had.
He wrote down his number in case anything turned up, and as he left I noticed the back of his head was covered with what looked to be Elven script straight out of Lord of the Rings.
Walking out the door he brushed past the nut who always wants chess books, and a few minutes later a gal I've never seen before walked in, looked around, barked out "Crime and Punishment? yeah that's JUST what I need!", spun on her heel and left.
Happily, today's potholed highway of mental illness has an offramp at Luna Red, where we'll be celebrating Auntie Burl's triumph over higher education.
And someone else is driving home, cause this blogmaster's drinking some VINO tonight.
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