Hey Everyone,

I wanted to share a random encounter I had with an Anon a few nights ago. Before I start, I should state that I'm not 100% on board with Q ... even still, I like to lurk on this Board because of its positive energy and the fact that there are links to news articles I can't readily find elsewhere. Not sure if I really count as a full-fledged "Anon," but I thought you guys would like this story.

I'm a young professional living on the outskirts of a major (and very blue) city. I don't encounter many right-leaning people in my social circles or at work, so I tend to keep my political views to myself. My work schedule is also a little odd, so the only time I usually have to work out is between 11 PM and 1 AM. Thankfully, there is a 24-hour gym a few blocks away from my apartment, so that is where you will find me most nights.

A few nights ago, I went to the gym as per my routine. Before I started my workout, I went into the locker room and placed my things in locker #17. I remember acknowledging the happy coincidence I was able to get that particular locker, but I didn't think too much of it at the time. I then proceeded to go through my workout and returned to the locker room after an uneventful hour and a half.

When I walked into the locker room, I noticed there was a young man changing on the bench in front of my locker. He was in his early to mid 20s and thin as a rail, with tattoos covering his arms and torso, multiple piercings in his lips, nose, and ears, and shoulder-length hair dyed platinum blond at the roots and blue at the ends. I, by contrast, am the most stereotypical preppy middle class white person you can possibly imagine. I'm not trying to say that I'm intentionally rude to strangers, but this guy instantly struck me as not the kind of person I wanted to strike up a conversation with.

Even still, I couldn't access my locker as long as he stayed where he was. So I approached the bench and said in a very polite tone, "Excuse me, this is my locker."

"Oh, sorry," he said as he shifted over a few feet. As I was messing with the combination lock, he looked up and motioned toward the locker, "You got number 17, huh?"

I turned to him with a curious expression. "I guess," I answered as innocently as possible. "Why?" I continued, "does that number have some special significance?"

He grinned, "Where we go one, we go all?"

I smiled, "Nothing can stop what is coming."

"It's been a pleasure, brother," he said.

"Likewise," I returned as I gathered my things and walked out of the locker room.

I know it isn't much, but this simple interaction illustrates how pervasive the Q movement has become. It also reinforces the old adage to never judge a book by its cover. Go with God, friends.