There I was, sitting in Starbucks minding my own business (well, okay, drawing intrusive pictures of other customers,) when my specially-honed artist's senses were drawn to a brouhaha of baristas up front. Above their fawning heads floated that of Dave Chappelle. He was evidently in town for a performance; either that or someone told him about Nauticus and he wanted to get a look for himself. He must have just come from d'Egg, because Phil had him in tow and was setting up those cell-phone photo opps that I'm so fond of. When the excitement finally died down, Dave (as I like to call him) ordered a coffee and ambled over to the little counter and added sugar, just like we ordinary folk would, with the exception of he had a skateboard between his legs (and I say this as a pure factual observation, not as some kind of inventive and vaguely racist metaphor.) Which would definitely separate him from my type of ordinary person. You'd never find me with a skateboard held between my legs, if only because it would make me waddle when I walked, and waddling is not a feature I would want to add to people's first impression of me. So, long story short, He fixed his coffee and left, after which I finished my coffee and left. Outside there was a surreal scene: a trail of young people babbling excitedly into their cell phones, leading from Starbucks down the street to the door of the Marriott, now empty except for the glow of vanished royalty.