...on matters of size

sunday morning

getting coffee

hot town

summer in the city

back of mah neck gettin dirty and gritty.

okay it wasn't so hot.

it wasn't so gritty.

hell, it wasn't so shitty. but, this cocksmoker in the suv almost took my door off with his truck in his mad rush to get that selfsame cup of coffee from the coffee-a-teria. i decide to not size up the driver, i decide to not get all upons. i decide to get my goddam coffee. bhind me, a british guy ordrs some manner of something or other macchiato. i think it's the sort of coffee one orders to sound swanky. it's kind of like kobe beef. everyone wants to order kobe beef. no one really knows if it tastes better than regular beef (i mean maybe some foodies know), they just like to say it.

kobe beef

kobe beef

kobe beef

kobe beef

and can i get a vente caramel macchiato half caf with a twist.

go

die

please.

anyway, it gets me away from the suv and gets me to thinking about the amount of folks who can afford to price regular folks out of manhattan due to the fact that the pound is worth twice that of the dollar and that they want a little corner of the west village to call little britain and how they can all go fuck off. respectively of course, i mean we still LOVE those tourist dollars.....um....er...pounds.

by this time i'm out the door and i see this little dog in the suv and it makes the bastard think about the absurdity of scale and then i'm wondering if the suv is compensating for the mans small penis or the miniature dog is compensating for his ugly mug, or lack or personality but by the time the bastard is postulating this latest theory, he's already made a u-turn and is picking up his lady at the bagel place across the street, no longer thinking about assholes in suv's but, bagels.

—the bastard