Loud-Talking Stan

I was at a coffee shop the other day, Wednesday, meeting a few of my friends who are also 'between assignments' and have time during the day to go to places like coffee shops in Pasadena. The place is cozy - what indie coffee joint isn't - and they don't mind if a few deadbeats buy coffee, iced tea, or a root beer and sit down to shoot the breeze for a few hours in the middle of the day.
   The place was practically empty, and we were sitting in a corner all alone, when he walked in... Loud-Talking Stan.
   I didn't know anything was wrong, but my friend facing the door instantly tensed up.
   "What's wrong?" I asked, turning around to see a heavy, scraggly-bearded guy eyeing the pastries in the display case as he hefted his laptop in one hand. Not really unusual for a coffee shop, but my friend, who was a regular here, shook his head.
   "Maybe he'll sit outside..." my friend mumbled.
   But Loud-Talking Stan did not sit outside. He also did not sit in any of the other chairs scattered across the room. No, he sat directly behind us.
   Loud-Talking Stan liked to IM his friends. He also liked to say what he was typing out loud. Really loud. He mashed his fingers onto the keyboard as if he were trying to drive the keys into the table beneath, sometimes talking about himself in the third person. That's how I know his name was Stan. My friend whispered it to me as well.
   Loud-Talking Stan was having a lively, if one-sided, discussion with his friends on the opposite side of the free wi-fi connection about the comic books coming out that day. I know Wednesday is new comic day, has been for decades now, but for Stan the day seemed filled with promise, as if the sun were just coming up at 3 PM. I'm sure he thought he was mumbling, or even whispering, but his talk of Batman, Wolverine, and the Avengers drowned out our conversation. The noise was bothering my friends, so we moved outside.
   This kind of thing happens to me all the time, but I forget that it doesn't happen to other people. I seem to attract the homeless, crazy, inconsiderate, or desperate, they all want to be around me for some reason. And when I say 'around me' I don't mean 'in my vicinity,' no, I mean right next to me, as if we were riding a crowded subway together. So I take all the blame for Loud-Talking Stan and his comic book eagerness interrupting our do-nothing afternoon.
   When I went to get my own stash of comics later that evening, I have to admit, I paused by the newest issue of Wolverine. I thought about Stan's loud, earnest recommendation and then I moved on.