Portraits of Stick Figures

There's a man who comes into this coffee shop and his head doesn't seem to be wired properly. He carries around sketches (along with enough copies of these sketches to flyer an entire Glenn Beck rally) that try to explain the problems with the world and the way that the U.S. will, ultimately, fall. Sometimes it's the CIA (today it was the bible) and sometimes it's hot dogs. Though he is virtually inaudible (aside from the occasional guttural noise that slips through is teeth), he insists on explaining his newly conceived process every time he comes in. Today's shift brought to light a fragment of this man's life that I will probably never know: He got into a shouting (which, in this man's case, was slightly above the level at which the average human being carries a conversation) -match with a group of women who may or may not have been prostitutes. Because he repeated himself over and over, I was able to piece together the rhetorical command I believe he was trying to convey: "Go ahead, call the police on me!" Something like that.