Sunday, February 14, 2016


     You eavesdrop on a conversation. Two young women are talking about a guy. Their voices are high and annoying, they whine. Both wear pink shirts and black pants. Young stupid women are the bane of your life. Never been able to ask one out. And the one time you did – she laughed in your face and left. Young stupid women who wear pink are the pests of society. They should be put to sleep. They should not be allowed to breed.
     You eavesdrop on a conversation between two young women who wear pink shirts in a café. The café where you come every day to read and write your stories. The same café you’ve been coming to for years. Where do these two get off – coming to your café and spoiling your afternoon? Don’t they know anything? Of course not, they’re stupid young women who wear pink. Who wears pink anyway? It’s disgusting. Like strawberry ice cream that melts between your fingers. Like bubble gum stuck under your shoe. Pink is the color of Pepto Bismol and shortcake and salmon. Pink is not a human color. Should be banned.
     You cannot help but eavesdrop on their conversation. They speak loudly. You become more and more annoyed. Angrier and angrier. You’d like to tell them: “shut up! You freaks. Shut up and crawl back to the hole you came out of.” You’d like to smack them and shut them up for good. The conversation drives you madder and madder. Until you have no choice. You have to destroy them. You have to bring peace back to the café. You have to do what’s right. No one else has the guts. No one else but you.

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