So today! I’m in this coffee shop, right?

I’m trying to keep my damn location off, WiFi off, no car, avoiding intersections like I’m in a fucking spy movie, and bam, in walks this dirty blonde Brit who’s probably tracking my phone.

I’m like, “Great, the crazies found me again.”

Then, door swings open, and who’s there?

Fucking Abraham Lincoln!

Or a wizard, I can’t tell, but with the most familiar boots I’ve seen since my last tequila bender in Mexico.

This dude’s dressed like he’s about to sign the Emancipation Proclamation but forgot his coat.

I’m sitting there, job hunting because no one wants a loud-mouthed RN who calls out bullshit, and here’s Abe, sipping his coffee outside in the cold, clearly here for me.

I’m like, “Coincidence my ass!” The Brit vanishes, and now I’m alone with Abe the Wizard.

My brain’s screaming, “Don’t be nuts, it’s just a coincidence!” but my gut’s like, “He’s here for you, babe.”

He comes back in, asks to sit near me like it’s totally normal to have coffee with Honest Abe.

I’m trying to make myself small, but I can’t help staring at this loony.

His hat? Not a topper, he says, but he’s definitely Abe Lincoln.

I end up talking to him because, you know, curiosity killed the cat, and I’m the cat. Please God protect me, because I am crazy and I talk with strange people!

He’s got clean hands, weird rings, and a smile that says, “I know you know.”

We dance around the elephant in the room—his bizarre get-up.

He starts spinning yarns about his boots and hat, and I’m like, “Dude, you look more like Gandalf than Lincoln.”

He laughs, agrees, and I swear I see a lizard tongue when he laughs.

So, what would you do?

I’ve got a wizard-lizard Abraham Lincoln on my hands.

Maybe it’s time to switch coffee shops… and buy a book on Lincoln.