Prince Poo of Dalaam, known to the Brooklyn DMV as Poo Mishinta, had been trained through Mu to empathize with people, this way they could be helped if possible and put down quickly if necessary.

Jason Porter led a hard life. His mother left his father for a Korean man, and they ended up on the streets. Porter quickly learned that the system was not doing anything for him, so he came to the conclusion at the tender age of fifteen that the only way he was going to survive was to fight the system.

This was why Poo was staring down the barrel of a nine millimeter being held by Porter as he screamed "OPEN UP THE MOTHERFUCKIN' CASH REGISTER, YOU MOTHERFUCKIN' CHINK! I'M-A PUMP YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN' YELLA ASS FULLA FUCKIN' LEAD, BITCH-ASS SLANT! MOVE IT MOTHERFUCKA! MOVE IT! BITCH-ASS MOTHERFUCKA, I'LL BLOW YA FUCKIN' ASS OFF THIS PLANET, BITCH-ASS SLANT CHINK MOTHERFUCKA!"

Poo was calm. He quietly emptied the cash register of all its money and...started counting out the bills as he sensed someone coming who would help him if he could just stall Porter a little longer.

"MOTHERFUCKA, MOVE! I AIN'T GOT NO TIME FOR YOUR ZEN CHINK-ASS BULLSHIT!"

"Must you end every other word with the word 'ass' as a suffix?" asked Poo as he kept his eyes on the bills he counted down.

"WHAT THE FUCK? OHHHH! YOU THINK THAT SHIT'S FUNNY!"

Poo thought it was hysterical, though he did not dare show it. Not that he was scared - he'd been shot about ten times on four or five different occasions and his healing powers were good to cover him. Poo was such a person that he figured that even a racist man like Porter could be shown a little respect.

Here comes the cavalry.

"MOTHAFUCKA I'M-A SHOW YOUR STUPID CHINK ASS WHAT'S FUNNY!"

"Sir, put the gun down."

"OH, YOU WANT SOM--"

Porter had not heard the guy who just came in creep up behind him. Therefore, it turned out to be a big surprise when he turned into the guy's pistol-whip.

Hours later, after the cops spoke to Poo and the man who helped, the man introduced himself to Poo as "Roger Nichols, good to meet you."

"You too," said Poo, "Thanks again."

"You were pretty calm back there," said Roger, "I'm impressed."

"That's just how I was raised," said Poo, "So, anything you want, on the house from now on."

"You know, I will take a Cherry Coke, thanks." Poo motioned to the fridges and Roger helped himself to a bottle of Cherry Coke. "You know, part of it was right place, right time, but I'm here for you. You were old friends with a Jeff Andonuts, correct?"

Poo chuckled a little at all the memories of the summer he had fifteen...sixteen years ago? "Wow," he said, "That's a name I didn't think I'd hear again for some reason. How is Jeff?"

"He's good. He's engaged to my employer, we work out of Toronto."

"You came from Canada to invite me to the wedding?"

"Uh...I didn't see a date set yet. Anyway, it's only a two hour flight, a little under that, and the three of us were hoping you'd accompany me on my return trip."

"What for?"

"Jeff's father just passed away. He wants you to come to the wake."

The motion of Poo's nod was calm, somber, and deliberate - as if there was a little bit of excitement that he would rather not show. "Tell me, are there any other people you had to track down to invite?"

"Yeah, a couple of people." Poo smiled. He knew exactly what this meant. "I'm prepared to stay a couple of days if you need time to get some affairs in order--"

"Just a phone call to pay my rent early. Then we'll take the next flight out of JFK to Canada. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I'll just grab some chips."