The FB Nation is either very observant, or nosy, or spends way too much time in coffee houses, or all of the above. So a recent round of inquisitiveness about the writer-ish mystery dude who shows up at Starbucks and other public venues all over Dallas has prompted much cybertraffic and many tales of sightings. You want to know who he is, you say?
Ponder no longer. Our fearless reporter-about-town and now executive editor/golf junkie Tim Rogers happened upon the phantom scribe way back in 2002. And you doubt we’re ahead of the curve?
You’ll have to find the September 2002 issue of D to see Tim’s photo of the man-about-town in the “Pulse” section, and to understand why both Tim and I think he bears a striking resemblance to Christopher Walken. Not least because Christopher is his name. But you can read a transcription of Tim’s interview, titled “What’s Your Story?” right here in the jump:
There are those passersby who beg be to be accosted, whether it be for their unusual attire or what the French call “I don’t know what.” We spotted Christopher (no last name, please) waiting for a bus the other day at Mockingbird Station. It was 97 degrees, and he was wearing this three-piece wool suit and red turtleneck. Oh, and the fedora.
HIS STORY: “I write poetry and I paint. I drink coffee here. I’m going to Lower Greeenvile, where there are some antique shops.”
For another more recent sighting, here’s a new report from an FBvian:
I’ve seen that guy several times at the Knox Street Starbucks.One time in particular stands out in my mind. He came in, got a cup of coffee and made a great production of finding the perfect table. After sitting down, he put out several stacks of papers. Then he moved them around like chess pieces. Then he shuffled them and made precise little piles at each corner of the table.
All of this was in preparation for the big enchilada, a dog-eared copy of the WRITERS DIGEST GUIDE TO LITERARY AGENTS which he pulled from his bag and placed in the middle of the table.
Then he waited. Every few minutes he would fiddle with his papers and look around, almost like he was daring people to approach. After about a half hour, he packed up and moved to a table across the room where he did the whole routine again.
