I�d been spending the better part of the day studying. It was post-Casey same-as-usual. I looked up the prices for some assay kits to look at my inflammation proteins, read online about some of Dr. C�s previous grad students, and read through one of the articles that�ll be up for reading when my presentation week comes.

May as well get ahead while you can.

I�d gone to Iyan�s to get some chow. Closed. Damn spring break sucked in some ways. There�d be a bum asking for change several doors down. I waited at the crosswalk. Out of my periphery I saw him coming up. He said something to me. I instinctively mentioned I had no change and that I was sorry. He said that was ok and he was just crossing. Lately it seems like a lot more panhandlers are out. This�ll be relevant later.

Around 8pm I decided to stop into Chipo to get a burrito. It�d be my usual 8 minute dinner. A festively frolicky group of gay college students were in front of me. You could tell by the triangle rainbow a few had on their backs. They took a good long while to order, then I was up. For whatever reason a few of the women were ordering in tortuously bad Spanish. Of course the guy behind the counter was happy and down with that, since he�s a Spanish speaker himself. I recognize him from his open face and silver front tooth, he likely recognizes me for as many times as I�ve been there. It�s like that with most of the places that I eat at.

As I was eating in walks in a black man in around his 40�s, brownish cap, a lifetime on his face. For some reason his jacket stood out to me, even if it didn�t at all. He went up to some young guy at one end of the restaurant. The two talked for 25 or so seconds. I naturally assumed that the guy was asking for handouts. There were other people there, but then he walked over to where I was.

I thought to myself that that always seems to be the case: out of everyone in a store, a restaurant, a mall, some random location or down the street, I�m the guy that the panhandlers, whack-jobs, and other fringe people approach to say or ask for something. In fact only they seem to do it, really, although there�s been the rare woman who�s said hi to me.

He stuck his fingers up in a peace sign and mumbled something. I couldn�t make it out. I assumed he was asking for change and told him I didn�t have any. He asked me why I thought he was asking for change. I said �I just assumed� without looking at him. He mumbled something about how you shouldn�t assume, etc etc., then walked out.

It was more the misunderstanding that bothered me. See, in my mind, I knew exactly why I�d assumed: you�re black in a mostly white section of town, you come in, you talk to a white college guy significantly younger than you for around 20 seconds, you approach someone else right after that. I�d automatically assume you�re asking for change. It isn�t racist, it�s a logical inference from past experience. I would�ve assumed the same thing if the guy had been white and older.

But with him standing there, all I could manage quickly was �I just assumed�. And I did, but for (I think) a good reason.

After I ate I fast-walked in my usual way over to Starschmuck�s, to see if they were open. I�d mostly brushed off whatever guilty feeling I had when I entered. I ordered a medium apple cider. As I was waiting for it to be done, who should come in but the black man in the 1930�s food line cap. I did not at all like this. He�d passingly said something to some people near the door before approaching me. His expression was unreadable, as if he�d had a stroke. He then told me that he�d seen me �run� over to here and wondered why. He said that he hadn�t done anything to me. He asked me if I was alright. I honestly said I was ok or eh. I think I just shrugged my shoulders. He might have said something to inquire after it, but I�d turned my head and attention back to my drink being made.

The girl manning the steam pump seemed pleasant as usual. She asked us, �How�re you two gentlemen tonight?� I�m not sure why she asked it that way. She might�ve assumed a guy that just walked in and was standing in back of me was my associate or something. I took my drink, turned to the side toward the guy, and said something like I apologize. He made some acknowledgement statement, and I went upstairs to start back into reading my Brain Damage articles.

And now I wondered: was he going to come up and talk to me again? Was he going to keep pursuing me? What did he want? To make a point about race relations or assuming something about people when that assumption was perfectly justified, given the circumstances?

Minutes passed by. I settled down in the far corner away from the few people who were in the main lounge. I opened my laptop up, took my articles out, and put my headphones on. I was getting back into the routine. Some guys came in and stuck around the glass partitioned sitting section outside.

And sure enough, 10 minutes later, in walked the black man with the brown cap. I�d seen him but it appeared that he hadn�t seen me seeing him. I was hoping he was just going up for coffee or something coincidental. He went outside to talk with the new group for about 30 seconds, and right before had talked with some other people. Then he came around to my corner and politeness dictated that I take off my headphones. Fear also kinda dictated it, because this guy had not just followed me once now, but twice. I distrust people in general and assume the worst of their intentions as a given, and this time was not an exception.

As if he hadn�t talked to me either of the two times, he said hello and asked me how I was doing, and if he could have just two minutes of my time. I was�and still am�sitting in a corner with noone else around me, so I decided to hear the guy out. Maybe this had some celestial meaning or just odd story value to it. Basically all he said was that he wanted to get back to Milwaukee, that he swore up and down that was truth, and that apparently noone had helped him, including the salvation army.

At this point, quite frankly, I didn�t care how fake or true the story was. I�d felt a little guilty and now here was this random guy that�d followed me. Still, I figured he was persistent and he had absolutely no expression, as if he could read the future and already knew it. I decided I�d give him two bucks, and told him I needed the rest of my cash for lunch tomorrow. I also mentioned I hadn�t lied about not having change�I didn�t have any coins. He shook my hand, said thank you, and that God would bless me. I had on one of those �yeah, I don�t really deserve that or anything else for free� sorts of looks. So he told me again it was so. And I looked him in the eye, tried at something like a closed smile, and said I hoped �he� would do the same for this guy. The guy mentioned that god would need to do a lot of blessing for him for anything to be right. I said something I can�t remember. The guy then asked me what he thought god would bless me with. I just shrugged slightly with my eyes closed, then said that whatever it would be would be appropriate. He might�ve asked what he thought god would bless him with, but the answer worked either way. The last thing he asked me is if I was a college student. I wasn�t, I said, I was a graduate student, and explained that meant I was getting an advanced degree like a Ph.D. He didn�t react at all to this, merely shaking my hand again in that limp, deathly cold way and went downstairs and out into the world.

Five minutes afterward I washed my hand. No, it was not because the man was black. I thought maybe he�d intentionally put something on his hand to transmit to me when he shook my hand a few times. Yes, I seriously thought he might have done something like that. When I say I assume the worst about people given enough ambiguity in the situation, I do just that. I remember doing the same thing when it�d happened with some crazy guy.

I feel better after having written this. I�m going to go study now.

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