You were the hardcore bicyclist I saw at the Dana Point Harbor. At least, that’s what your attire suggested. From a distance, you seemed to be telling off someone I couldn’t see, and you kept it up as you walked toward me. I lowered my eyes to avoid contact. When you passed by again and burst out with swear words, I thought, “Oh, no, he has Tourette’s! Poor guy!” And berated myself for assuming you were dangerous. Then I saw a guy that looked like an average fisherman go into a store, bend down and kiss the neck of a woman in a sundress. She was startled, looked at me and said he was a total stranger. My radar for stranger danger is on an epic fail.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to
le*****@oc******.com
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