I ran into Harold down at Nieman Ranch -- he was putting lipstick on a pig.

I ran into Harold at an art opening in Culver City -- he wanted to know what happens when negative capability meets relational aesthetics in the context of institutional critique.

I ran into Harold at Full House in Chinatown -- I was picking cockroaches out of my rice and he was laughing over my shoulder.

I ran into Harold at the Grove -- and that's all I'm going to say about that.

I ran into Harold at the Mobile station on the corner of Eagle Rock and Colorado -- he was just kicking back, listening to some Jethro Tull.

I ran into Harold at the LA Public Library -- he was hushing the librarians.

I ran into Harold on the 3rd Street Promenade -- he was dancing to songs performed by a 10 year-old street singer.

I ran into Harold on the 405 Freeway. Ouch!

I ran into Harold at Amoeba Records -- I was in Black Metal, he was in Jazz; it just didn't work out.

I ran into Harold at the Zizek reading -- he was looking for tips for his upcoming communist cookbook.

I ran into Harold at the Republican National Convention -- he was singing backup with Rage Against the Machine.

I ran into Harold as I was surfing the internet -- he had ones and zeroes for eyes.

I ran into Harold down at the Smell -- he was baking vegan cupcakes for "the kids."

I ran into Harold as I was vacationing in Wasilla, Alaska -- he was campaigning against moose hunting.

I ran into Harold at the South Pasadena Farmer's Market.

I ran into Harold as I was standing on Sunset near Alvarado dithering over whether to buy a paper.

I ran into Harold as I was eating at Leonore's in Studio City.

I ran into Harold on Hillhurst in Los Feliz--I turned around, picked him up, and we had coffees and compared our lives.