Tomorrow I am going away. I will probably be back. But there is always the chance that I will not be coming back, ever. Maybe I will die, maybe I will live there now, maybe I will run out of money somewhere in between and get a job in some weird place and my life will be forever altered. I could stop into a little pastry shop for a coffee because I have plenty of time to kill before my train leaves. I would probably sketch some of the stuff outside, as is my custom at sidewalk cafes. They will be cramped for seating and the waiter will ask me if I mind very much to share my table with this beautiful young lady. I will graciously stab him in the eye and insult him in a very complicated and methodical way. He will shuffle back to the kitchen and the other kitchen staff will peer out of the cellar door at me. They will do it in a way that will appear as several heads stacked atop each other. I will then do some quick origami with napkins and then be on my way. But just as I am a few blocks down the way the manager will grab my shoulder and say, “EXCUSE ME SIR. Are you the man who stabbed my waiters eye just now?” I will admit to it at which time we will offer me a job. “I am looking for an eye stabber like you,” he will say. “We get a lot of rude customers and waiters also and I need someone who can give them a good stab in the eye. I have all sorts of pointy sticks you can use or if you like you can just use a fork. You see, it intimidates, I like that.”