In this week’s column for the S.F. Examiner, the return of Mr. Judy, the misanthropic drug dealer…

“I really hate sober people,” Mr. Judy says. “Not because they’re lousy customers — I mean, there’s that, obviously — but mostly because I don’t trust them. Non-smokers, too.”

“Uh huh.” I fill the empty spaces in his monologue with grunts and polite chuckles while slowly cruising down Clipper Street toward the Mission.

“Which reminds me. Where’s my mace?”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “You’ll get it back.”

I’ve taken Mr. Judy, and his can of mace, hostage. After nearly spraying a guy in the face at a liquor store, I decided he wasn’t ready to be released back into the wild just yet. So I’m driving him around and listening to David Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold the World,” hoping he’ll soon relax.

“That guy in the liquor store had it coming. I’m telling ya. Asking the price for every bottle of booze. If you can’t afford alcohol at a liquor store, plan ahead and go to Costco, you stupid fucking moron!”

I agree that while certain people probably deserve to be maced, “You can’t get 86’d from another place. Soon, there won’t be anywhere left for you to go.”

Read the rest here.

[photo by Douglas O’Connor]