So much truth it hurts. Excerpts from the New Yorker.
At the gym parking lot today. You were the hot guy with the soul patch in the Kia Forte. You took my spot. I was waiting for that spot, and you just swooped in and took it. I wish you could have heard me honking at you. Our eyes connected but you just kept walking. If I had the chance to see you one more time, I would roll down my windows and call you a dick.
At a bar celebrating my friend's birthday in midtown. You were wearing Google Glass. I tried to mouth, "You look like a moron." Did you record that?
We made small talk in the checkout line at Trader Joe's. You said that you literally could not live without the salsa you were buying. I wish we could talk again. You used "literally" incorrectly. It really pissed me off. I wish you could literally not live without that salsa, because then I'd take it from you.
You were in front of me in line at the Chipotle in Queens. You ordered a carnitas burrito with "no beans, add guac." I still remember this because it took you almost ten minutes to order. You had all the time in the world while we were in line. What were you doing then? How could it take you so long to decide not to have beans? Either you want beans or you don't want beans. It's not that hard. Please e-mail me. I need to understand this.