in LiveJournal

Intolerant!: … Two years ago today, at discipline and publish, Paul Festa contemplated homicide.

Today at Café Flore I am close to murder. Before they even sit down the couple moving in next table is motivating me to poison them. Before I even look up their kvetchy voices are whetting my bloodthirst. He needs to sit in a chair, not on the bench. His back is giving him trouble.

What is this? Why, on this comparatively lovely late summer day, am I hearing about this bald old man’s back pain? There is only one conversation about physical discomfort permitted in public, and it concerns my knee. Or my hands. Sometimes I get this pain in my right ankle where a summer school math teacher stepped on it, supposedly on accident. Remind me to tell you more about that some time.

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