How far back was I? I counted - third in line and tapping my foot. Slowly though; I was relaxed. Thinking, what the hell , it would take as long as it took. All I was doing was beating the time of the latest fill I was trying to master on the drums. My Rolands, up in the loft, where, with headphones on, I drummed all my hard rock heroes. It’s what I did anywhere I was waiting, run the latest groove through my head tapping my foot and flicking my fingers. I was concentrating hard; this one had a complicated s hift through the toms and ride cymbal. Still third in line. Why? The guy up front at the checkout held a scowl of despair as he packed his bags with the precision of an OCD. I looked at the steamy fella behind him - there was trouble coming for sure. The man turned, his eyes missed the lady behind him and locked onto me. Why me and not the lady I’m not sure. Perhaps he thought the words he was going to use wouldn’t suit a sweet old lady. That’s when he said, over the lad...