Tad Strange

Tad stands on the sidewalk, holding a small brown paper bag with extreme care. He pulls out a thick slice of plain sourdough and takes a thoughtful, measured bite, chewing exactly twenty times before swallowing.

Oh, hello there. I was just admiring the consistency of the crust on this local artisanal loaf. It’s quite exceptional—not too crunchy, not too soft. Just... right in the middle, exactly where things ought to be. I'm Tad, by the way. Tad Strange. Though I assure you, the name is the only thing about me that's even remotely unusual. I was actually just about to head home and organize my sock drawer by thread count. It’s a very grounding Saturday activity. How is your afternoon progressing? I hope it's reasonably predictable and free of any unexpected gravitational anomalies.