I got up, drank a quart of tap water, showered, brushed my teeth, ate a banana and listened to a few songs off my Johnny Cash CD while I smoked a couple cigarettes. The normal routine. I like to take my days by storm. I walked downtown to the coffee shop and the usual crew was there, at least they were there until the bars opened. Houser and Ron each had giant bowl of coffee in front of them, their greasy heads in their hands. Harlan was on the opposite side of the table, vehemently describing something, his arms flying about like an uncontrolled fire hose. I walked past the table unnoticed and ordered at the counter, quadruple cappuccino. Behind me I could hear Harlan smacking the table top in some sort of weird jazz rhythm. I turned around and it looked like he was emphasizing point after point. Houser rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The counter girl scowled at the table. "Do you know those guys," she snipped. "Me? Absolutely not," I said. "Obviously a bad element. Clearly chemical dependent, each and every one of them. With those kind of people around you better have 911 on your speed dial." "That's a great idea," she said. She took my money, gave me my change and started fiddling with her phone. I put the change in the tip jar and joined the crew at the table. "What the hell is going on?" I asked. "I think that counter girl is falling in love with you guys." "Balls," Ron said, "she spilled coffee on me on purpose last time I was here." "I think I'm gonna crap in her tip jar," Houser said. "Next time she goes outside for a cigarette, I'm going to show her how much I appreciate her prompt and courteous service." "You guys are real peaches," I said. "Anyway," Harlan said. "I was on act three of my opera." "Opera?" I said. "Apparently Harlan has decided rock and roll is passé and is turning his creative energies to the purest of art forms, opera," Houser said. "You guys can laugh," Harlan said, "but nobody is going to give a shit about some three minute pop ditty in three hundred years. Opera is how you get your work to travel through time." "What's it about," I asked. Houser rolled his eyes. Ron's head dropped. "Well, it's called "The Love Song of J. Wayne Bobbit," Harlan explained. "You know the guy who got his pecker sliced off in his sleep," Houser said. "Goddammit!" Harlan shouted, "John Wayne Bobbit is an American hero! Not in the normal sense, but he's an indicator of where our society is headed, a symbol of what the American matriarchy is doing to this country!" "I thought he was a wife beater or something," I said. "Not in my opera," Harlan said. "My opera will transcend his life, my character will sing through the ages. In a millennium they won't even realize Bobbit was an actual human. They will only know him through my work." I took a sip of my coffee. "Anyone want to go outside for a smoke?" I asked. "Sit!" Harlan commanded. "I'm to the point in his life to where he undergoes penis enlargement surgery." "That really happened?" Houser asked. "Yeah," I said. "Then he went on to make a movie called 'Frankenpenis.'" "Really?" Houser asked. "You can't make stuff like this up," I said. Ron leaned back in his chair. "I wouldn't need anything like that," Ron said. "What?" I said. "Penis enlargement." Ron replied. "Bullshit," Houser interjected. "Like hell," Ron said. "I'm like a kielbasa and a couple 'a grapefruit." "Maybe with a prosthetic penis and the mumps," Houser said. "I've had the mumps," Ron said. "I had to wear sweat pants for three months. My testicles swelled up like a couple Forestburg melons. My mom still calls me 'Oompa Loompa ' from that time." "Your mom?" I said. "Yeah," Ron said. "That's cruel." I replied. "You pricks shut up," Harlan yelled. "I've got the music done and I'm writing the libretto." "Harlan," I said, "What the hell are you doing? I can't sit through this. Every week you've got something new and half baked..." "You mean half-cocked," Houser said. "Half-cocked," Ron repeated, slapping the palm of his hand on the table. "I get it. Just like Bobbit before his surgery." I took another drink of my coffee. Counter girl was staring at us, arms across her chest. I gave her a wink. She stomped her foot and went into the back room. "Anyway," Harlan continued, temper rising. "He wakes up from the anesthesia, at first he's not sure where he is. Then he looks under the sheet and sees the surgery was successful." I stood up. "Where the hell are you going," Harlan said. "I'm gonna take a leak," I said. "Hurry back," he said. He turned toward the others and continued on with his story. The air in bathroom was cool and smelled like synthetic lemon and stale urine. I stood in front of the sink and ran some water. I splashed my face, but discovered there were no paper towels. I went to the toilet stall and grabbed a few pieces of toilet paper and dabbed the majority of the water off my face. On the metal wall in the stall was scratched the message, "the government treats you the same way you treat this toilet." One of Harlan's poisonous screeds, no doubt. What a pack of morons, I thought. Between Houser, Ron and Harlan you had enough bad ideas in the coffee shop to cause some real problems. Well, the world hasn't shook off it's axis because of them yet. But that didn't mean I wasn't gonna get the hell out of there as quickly as I could. I walked out the door and into the back room. Counter girl was working on a stack of dishes. "What the hell do you want," she asked. "Do you have a back door," I asked. "I need a discrete way out of here." Counter girl was pointing toward the rear of the building when we heard a crash from the dining area. I ran out front to see Harlan jump up on the table and kick a napkin dispenser across the room. "And then," He screamed, eyes blazing in their sockets like disconnected ends of a power line, "He stands up on the table and begins to feel the power of his new, enlarged member. He feels a strength he's never felt before. Then he lets loose with a stentorian voice...." I looked over and counter girl was using the speed dial I'd suggested earlier. Harlan let his arms fly like he was the conductor of a band of horrible demons. He built up to a mountainous crescendo, then bellowed, "My dick is huge!!! My dick is huge!!!" He leaped to another table, grabbed his crotch and pointed to where Ron and Houser were calmly sitting. "Look at its length! Notice its girth! Feel its heft!!!" He jumped to yet another table, lifted his arms and looked to the ceiling and screamed, "My dick is huge!!!" As he finished the last terrible note two cops came rushing through the front door. Harlan jumped off the table, threw a chair in the aisle and ran toward the back room. He stopped right in front of me, took a deep breath and said, "What do you think?" then took off at a full sprint. I stepped behind the counter as the cops barreled past. I looked back at the table. Houser and Ron were quietly sipping their coffee as if nothing had happened. I looked to my right. Counter girl was still on the phone. She looked at me and squinted sharply. "I think you should go," she said. "I think that's a great idea," I replied. "Can I have a go cup for my coffee?" She pointed to the front exit. "Just get out." I turned, walked through the mess Harlan had made, and out the front door into the sunlight. I stretched, lit a cigarette and started down the street. Due west.