Amber Sparks
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You can scroll the shelf using ← and → keys
People who don’t brush their teeth and then stand next to me and yawn on the Metro. Ohmygodjustbrushyourgodamnteethit’snotthathard.
People who saunter into the Metro car as if they had all the time in the world, never mind the line of people behind them frantically trying to get around them before the doors shut.
Old ladies wearing capes or fur coats who stare at your sparkly tights and purse their skinny lips in distaste.
When you tell someone that you write, sometimes, for fun, and they say, “Oh, you should write a book like [insert one of following: Da Vinci Code, any Harry Potter book, any vampire book.]“
People who, when you tell them you write, say, “You get any money for that?” and are immediately dismissive when you say, no, no I do not.
The fact that there are, somehow, still giant mounds of snow on the side streets.
People who hate unions and could not possibly tell you why they hate unions or even what a union does. Except maybe that they knee cap people or something?
People who hate the government and have a government job and pension and health care.
People who ask, “So what do you do,” and they mean for money, not for fun or for not-money.
Big tall assholes in bad suits who stand right in the door of Metro car with their giant legs wide apart and newspapers all spread out so you have to kind sidle and squeeze past them just to get in before the doors close on you. And you just know they hate poor people, too.
And we’re not even at tourist season yet. Oh, god.
