Nothing quite as alarmingly entertaining while riding the train as watching this guy sitting there reading Twenty Forms of Self-Defense as he glares up furiously at the roof, from where a random drip of condensation just fell onto his open book, splat, right in the middle of a picture on page 121 illustrating how to snap the neck of a man much larger than you. His face is turning red, his hands clench and unclench and his biggish arms tense as if he were going to punch that drop of water silly.

This is the kind of person who re-defines 'self-defense.'

I'm so tempted to ask him something incendiary. I wonder if he would beat me to death with his book.

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