The handsome, cut-glass jawline, cappuccino-skinned guy in the pricey mid-sized sedan, douchebag air of entitlement thick as his gel-spiked hair, has graciously deigned to share his nightmarish, repetitive techno music with us at top volume as he rolls down Fifth Avenue and turns onto Flatbush.
Because of the vagaries of traffic, stoplights, and a cruel and unfathomable God who cares nothing for our sensibilities, Katie and I, walking, are subjected to this guy's shitty, shitty music for a couple minutes longer than really seems fair.
"You're an asshole, and your music sucks," I say to the back of his car as he and his oonce-oonce-oonce-mobile pull away from the light to fade into the sunny Brooklyn afternoon.
"Tell me about it," says another guy near us on the sidewalk, lips pursed, shaking his head in resigned disgust.
No comments:
Post a Comment