We do have two bonafide by-god outside agitators in our midst. There's Tesla, the casually bicurious Red Anarchist from Chicago. He likes to wear a black bandanna around his face, and his favorite form of protest is to run through open banks wearing nothing but said bandanna. Then there's Tesla's buddy Taylor, an early 20's hippie/hipster/scenester eternal archtype who keeps asking me if I have access to the local amatuer plant sales market. Damned good guys these two. They started hitching west a six weeks ago with the aim of making it to Oakland. They arrived in Lincoln a month ago after walking from the end of the bus line in west Omaha all the way to the Cornhusker Highway exit into the capital over a course of two days through wet weather. Sleeping under a bridge in Ashland and apparently catching no flak from the villagers along the way. They've had various plans for continuing their journey west since then; hitchhike some more, jump a frieght train, stowaway on the Cali Zephyr, though they also say that they've grown comfortable here. I know the feeling.
Then there's William; middle aged, native to Nebraska. He says he was born and raised on a farm and his nasel accent reveals that he does indeed come from somewhere far uphill from the eastern cities or Platte Valley market towns. The important thing about William is that he cooks and that he cooks damned well; eggs, bacon, burgers, fajitas. Truly a saint if not a God. Me I handle the coffee myself, a thing that we have an inexhastible supply of even if well-filling food does get a bit low sometimes.
There was some nonsense last night, of a nature that I would have to see today's aftermath before I can be sure that my own fifth amendment rights do not apply. It wasn't me who was personally doing anything foolish I assure you, and at any rate you can just hold your curiosity until if and when the moment comes for me to tell the story.