Newman struggled to explain himself. "I usually don't come here in the morning," he told the bartender. "And I know it's kind of weird for me to find your address and track you down. And even weirder that I just implied that I come here at night sometimes."
He gulped as the bartender, eyes trying to be both wide in surprise and bleary from half-waking, stared at him across the kitchen table. "Anyway, if this isn't a good time..."
The bartender adjusted his dingy bathrobe and pulled out a chair, motioning to Newman. "I'm not awake enough to be creeped out. Or to call the police. You want some cereal?"
We apologize for the lack of a punch line in that abnormally long mental health entry. But we're not sorry about breaking and entering.