Nine o’clockish. Two guys. Opposite sides of the bar. Only two customers in the restaurant.

Dude #1. He’s been to the bar a couple times before, drinks Amber Bock, kinda annoying. Twenty-seven. Married and divorced. He has ADHD tendencies and feels the need to constantly talk to me. About everything. He has a nine-year-old son. He has custody every other weekend. Dude went to jail two years ago for three felony cocaine charges. The only letter his wife wrote him detailed her affair with another man. He did his time, got out, divorced Baby Momma.

Dude #2. Never seen before. Mid-30s, heavy set, Maker’s Mark doubles on the rocks. He’s quiet, seemingly normal. I give him a number of opportunities to talk to me but he chooses not to. After two drinks, he begins to sweat profusely. I’ve seen weirder things, so I let it go, no biggie. About an hour (and another drink) later, he asks me for a pen. Normal. I walk to the kitchen, come back, and he calls me by my name. I walk over to him and he hands me a paper towel. On it, it reads:

“Kendra,

I have not been locked up (ever) and I have no kids. I have a good job. Will you go out with me?”

Uhhhhh.. what?