Let me tell you about Dexter Morgan. Before I watched the first episode of the (potentially grotesque) series, I was highly skeptical that a network could produce a worthwhile show surrounding a serial killer who killed other serial killers, while managing to maintain a complex cast sifting through situations you'd actually care about. This storyline could have surmounted to a largely egregious lifetime movie, on schedule next to shows featuring screaming women and vast amounts of blood. But writers of Dexter have done no wrong, and continue to keep the plot line enticing with just one question they want to ask: "Are you prepared to like a serial killer?" I can say, that yes, I am. I like him, I really, really do.
So, did I scream? Fortunately for him, I did not, and although I had a camera in my bag, I decided my best course of action would be mustering enough courage to say hello. On this early Saturday morning, he was wearing a baseball cap, and I imagine it was partly to avoid recognition and also, because he probably hadn't taken a shower that morning and therefore was less inclined to take a photo with hyperventilating fans. So, as he finished paying for his coffee, my sister and I stood to the side, and as he walked towards us, I piped up, "Michael." The expression on his face was more Do I know you than Oh, Shit I've been recognized and he obliged us with a handshake as I said, "Hi, we're really big fans of the show." With a humble and quiet "Thank You", Mr. Hall walked away in that familiar stride I've seen every episode on Dexter. With our parting, I walked into a nearby aisle, and silently freaked out behind the chips, celebrating in high-fives and OMG's with my sister, who couldn't believe our luck.