some brown-haired guy was sitting in his car at the stoplight in front of rachael and i and yelled some insult at these punks that had gathered around us. then he parked, and got out and joined us and i realized that they were friends. he approached rachael and i trying to solicit a hug, and after a little resistance we gave in. "you're a lousy hugger," i said in reaction to a less than convincing "embrace". "i'm a lover-hugger," he protested, whatever that means. street punk with warm brown eyes, dyed white-blonde hair, so-cal surfer dude accent, see-through earlobes, bones brigade t-shirt and bondage pants comes up and sits down next to rachael and i. i wondered how he could get his feet through pants so skinny but smiled, listening to his rantings and goings on about cops, or "pigs" as he called them in his song. "i'm just gonna chill here with you guys, if that's all right." he said, sitting down. "that's fine, just so long as you know that we own these steps," i said back. he said something to the contrary, that they were actually owned by everyone or something silly like that. he asked rachael for a quarter and when she told him she didn't have one, he reached into his hole-y pocket and handed her one of his. he proceded to try and tell her how much that equaled in pounds and euros and rach offered its equivalent in rupees. then he dug out a mostly-gone bag of spicy freetos from his pocket, "yeah, that's what i wanted," he said, "but i need a dollar twenty-nine." rach hands him back his quarter. keep your eye out for him around town and give him a friendly hello. he will reportedly be in missoula another two months waiting for his girlfriend to get out of jail.