Saturday, February 19, 2011 |
I look back, I hold the door for him and just when he catches up, looking grateful, I let the door close brutally on him and I leave, laughing.
There's a pregnant woman getting on the bus, looking like she's ready to give birth right there on the spot. Of course, she had to choose that moment and the bus I'm on. And, obviously, I had to be sitting on the seat designated for people like her. Yeah, I'm not going to get up for her. I paid my fare too.
What are people thinking, really, using the metro with dozens of grocery bags stuffed in a little cart that weighs a ton? Sure, I could be a dear and help them. And I do sometimes take the thing down or up the stairs for them, but I usually leave it halfway there. Way too heavy for my back.
Our winters are very bad for non-driving smokers. When I wait for the bus, I don't feel like smoking outside the crappy but welcoming shelter. I don't care if there's people inside, constantly sighing and giving me the look - I go in and smoke like there's no tomorrow.
Yeah, I like to fantazise. People constantly enrage me. All the world's their stage but they're performing for themselves. They never care. I never behave that way. I help others. Hell, I don't even smoke. Yeah, I'm a pretty good guy overall. With twisted thoughts.