accents raze you walk out of walmart and watch a man pull into the parking lot in an expensive suv. windows down. "excuse me sir," he says. "how are you today?" "i'm all_right," you say. "how are you?" "terrible," the man says. "i'm from america." his accent isn't american. it's as thick as the three gold chains on his chest and flecked with unfamiliar music. "my credit card doesn't work here," he says. "you have money? i give you this ring if you give me money." his ring is gold or some lesser metal lying about its lineage, with a red stone set deep in its durable skin. "i'm sorry," you say in your best canadian brogue. "i don't have any money." with a wave of his hand, he dismisses you and moves on to his next mark. you drive home with a jug of orange_juice and two glass bottles of sweet and sour sauce for a stir-fry. 260208 what's it to you? who go blather from