Most of the time I'm like those weird women who have fallen in love with serial killers like Richard Ramirez. I am naturally drawn to guys like him in bars. I want to talk to them and use them for fodder for this column. I want to ingratiate myself with them, get them to trust me and open up, so I can relay all of their nuttiness in print the following week. This is why good journalists also have to have a touch of psychopathy. Getting a good story always relies on a certain amount of betrayal. But tonight I just didn't have it in me to be a fake asshole. Dang it.

Our eyes met and he gave me a sort of creepy stare, waiting for me to look away first perhaps, thus proving his dominance. Well, buddy, this will be your lucky night. I will look away. You win.

"Another one?" asked my friend, getting up to go to the bar.

Like "Katy St.Clair’s Bouncer column" on 
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