You, trying to push your way into the already crowded subway car. What do you think- I’m standing in front of the door just to greet you at the station? What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit on somebody’s lap? There’s nowhere for me to move. Wait for the next fucking train!!!
And you, taking up the sidewalk at a snail’s pace with your 50 kids and 100 dogs. Move out of the fucking way! You don’t own the block. Real people with real lives and actual jobs are trying to get to work, lard ass! And while I’m at it, let me introduce you to a little something I like to call BIRTH CONTROL…
Oh and you, missy, with the handbag, briefcase, lunchbox, gym bag, scuffed, Manolo knock-off’s in a Victoria’s Secret shopping bag, bulky coat, coffee and big-ass New York Times…must you sit next to me with all your fucking luggage? Must I smell your mocha, half-caf grossness every fucking morning?? Must I smell whatever piss-water you bought at Perfumania last week as I try to keep the chunks from rising in my throat? And can you PUH-LEESE learn to fold the paper properly so you’re not shoving the Metropolitan Diary up my nose?
And let’s not forget you- Mr. One-Night-Stand who can’t take NO for an answer. What part of “I’m not interested anymore” do you not understand? Why should I care that you’re having an affair with a married woman? Or that you have to run an errand for your mom on Long Island? AND HOW FUCKING DARE YOU CALL ME AT 4AM FOR A BOOTY-CALL??? WHAT THE FUCK???
If you all don’t just leave me the hell alone to be and breathe and find my goddamned inner peace in PEACE, I swear on all that is holy and un-holy on this god-forsaken island: I MIGHT JUST HAVE TO STAB YOU.
*smooches…with a shank hidden in my shoe*