To the young male sitting next to me waiting for the bus. Things were going
great chatting with you until you coughed up a phlegm ball as big as a
baby’s fist, spitting it directly in front of our bench. I couldn’t even
look at you let alone continue our conversation on how dirty you thought
our town was being here visiting your Grandmother. How ironic is that?
Quick question: Does Gram’s know what a disgusting piece of filth her
precious little snowflake is? If I ever see you do that again while you are
here, I won’t hesitate in grabbing you by the back of the neck throwing you
to the sidewalk while making you suck it back up. That ought to add some
excitement to your stories you tell your fellow punk-ass friends back home.