Crackpots in the 'Hood

I know Vancouver doesn't have the corner on crackpots. After all I live here. But, on Monday, I stopped by a neighborhood grocery store to buy a friend some cold medicine. Normally I would go to a giant chain grocery to save money, but I was in a hurry so I stopped at a market that fell somewhere between Huge-orama-Foods and Mom n' Pop. On the sidewalk at the front of the store was a man on his knees, praying. Just like Christopher Robin: head bowed, hands clasped together. My first thought was, "Don't go into the store. This guy is going to wrap up his prayer session and blow away all the shoppers with an automatic weapon." I went in anyway. Remember? I was in a hurry. Inside, I made my choice (one box of generic DayQuill left! Score!), and as I rounded the last aisle I encountered Crackpot Number Two. He had a hood pulled tightly over his face so just his left eye was exposed and, with this single eye, he stared intently at me as I made my way from the back of the store, past him, to the checkout counter. Curious as I was, I lacked the intestinal fortitude to look back to see if he had swiveled around to look after I had passed him. Prayer guy, by the way, continued to loiter outside the store as I left, but had switched from praying to smoking. Maybe he had been praying for his lungs.