keaton is in an outpatient surgery center having her shoulder worked over to remove bone spurs.
in the meantime, i'm sitting in the far corner of the waiting room like shane.
my back is up against the wall where i can discreetly observe the others in the event a situation develops and i have to jump into action.
(i'm in secret agent mode in case you haven't guessed)
i've sized up the combative nature of this group and other than one rather stocky marine drill sergeant type, the others i can take out, given they limp at me in single file.
as for sarge over there, i think i can get to the coat rack and lodge into his wheel chair, essentially immobilizing him while i take care of the rest.
for the moment all is calm.
but they are all watching fox news, and i'm not sure how much longer i can take it until i ask to switch channels.
that may be the spark that explodes this timber box.
i need to hang in there.
take it a minute at a time.
think about good things.
cover my ears and repeat, "la, la, la, la ..."
maybe i should just leave while the gettin's good.
keaton should walk the sixteen miles home anyway.
probably do her a world of good.
boy, i don't know, but being in secret agent mode sure carries with it the burden of swift decision making and crisp death blow execution.
it's not for everyone, that's for sure.
you have to have the steely resolve of a jackal with the deadly grace of a jaguar.
and if i've revealed anything about my nature it has been that i employ both quite innately.
or so i must imagine anyway, when i'm in secret agent mode.