Lana feels

I meet the wierdest people in restaurants. I don't know what it is about me that screams 'approach me' - maybe there's a sign. There's got to be something, though, because the odd people with a desire to make conversation with complete strangers tend to latch onto me like leeches. Or something equally latchy. I think it's probably because I don't have the heart to ignore people. I don't avoid eye contact, and when peculiar men with mental disabilities ask if they can join me for lunch, the closest I can get to the 'no' I'd like to say is 'I'm kinda busy.' Cause that's a deterrent. So I ended up having lunch with a man who, despite looking mid-30s and behaving about 5, claims to be turning 50. He asked me three times in the 8 minutes we were sitting together whether or not I thought he needed a haircut, five times what time it was, twice what day it was, and managed to carry on a fairly intrusive inquiry into what I did, where I did it, and what my hours are. I at least had enough sense to deflect the personal questions, but it was really quite unsettling. Whoever taped the 'bleeding heart' sign on my back, could you please take it off? I just wanted to eat and write in peace.