It doesn't end when I clock out. Drivers and passengers have thrown drinks and cussed at me just for walking down the street, but never accepted my invitation to get out of the car. Some little suburban bitch ran a red light when I caught up with him. Kiss this, Rowlett, Texas.
Am I sober or are you just horrifically insufferable? People always want me to explain myself. Why do I always wear an ivy dress? I like hats, dumb ass.
Why did you assail me with pleasantries? I don't care how life is treating you, either. “Doin' good” I always respond. I could have been suicidal that day. We're all inveterate liars.
People speak for no reason and pretend to care when they don't have to. Fine, engage in velvet-gloved mutual masturbation, but don't expect me to join in. Why suffer the exhaustion of mindless happy talk when coldness will suffice? I'm not the prick, I try to mind my own business and keep getting accosted. My street clothes are dress clothes but my only fashion statement is that white lapel pin flipping you the bird.
Hell yes, I meant it. You pushed me too far and I'm going for broke. Don't like it? Yeah, and it would take a team of psychologists to determine why I might give a goddamn. Nevertheless, I hope this rant finds you well and God bless. A parting thought and my final offer: kiss my crazy white ass.