Fisher King Anxiety

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a cafe when a stern-looking gentleman in a long leather coat, holding a brown paper bag stormed through the front door. I thought at that moment, "Well, this is how I will die. There's a gun in that bag and an unsound brain under that faux hawk. He's going to shoot up the place. I'll be dead. Alex will go crazy and homeless. Jeff Bridges will feel obligated to befriend Alex because his crazy radio ranting actually caused the leather coat guy to barge into the cafe and kill me." It turns out this gentleman was hell bent on getting to the open mic sign up list at the counter and there was a Gatorade in that brown paper bag. I think he was also on meth. Now whenever I'm in relaxing in public I wonder if my drink or meal will come with a side dish of bullet. I diagnosed myself with "FKA," Fisher King Anxiety. I haven't seen The Fisher King in years, but now I can't stop thinking about the circumstances of Robin Williams' wife's death. Does that really happen...in real life? Do people really walk into generically upscale bar/restaurants filled with early 90's yuppies and shoot the place up? When you drive, get on a plane or train, or walk by yourself at night, you accept there are factors out of your control and death could be around the bend. I can't imagine another time you have your guard more down in public than stuffing your face with mozzie logs, drinking a Bud Light, or sucking on a green iced tea waiting for your turn at an open mic in a cafe. Don't get me wrong, I'm still not in the mood to make dinner at home tonight and would risk a bullet for some waitress service. Does the American Psychiatric Association have a blog?