There is an older gentleman at the detox center that insists on walking me out to my car if I’m working late and further insists that I pull my car out in front of him and he drive behind me on our way back to our respective homes until we hit a main street in the city. The center is roughly 8 miles outside of the city limits into what I guess is considered “the country.” It can be a fairly isolated drive. While things like this typically annoy me to a small degree, it’s kind of a refreshing change to the mental institution mentality of me, where everyone there generally assumed I would knife any poor bastard who looked at me wrong and no one had any qualms letting me walk to my car at 3 in the morning in a truly decrepit neighborhood.

People have said I’ve been different lately. I’m quieter. I’m less quippy. I’m way happier. Well in a way. I’m awkward and uncertain in what I’m doing, though that will get better with time. About 60% of the clients coming through are ex-offenders out on parole or are there because it’s under the terms of their probation. The other 40% are homeless. I am neither and it shows. I’ve already been asked out once by a crack-addict felon. He found my “no, thank you” all sorts of amusing.

I have a date with jane. I’ll end this here.