In an open letter to the other bicyclist in a denim mini,
“You are cramping my style.”
“You are cramping my style.”
“Did you seriously say that you wouldn’t have carded that woman based on her arms alone?”
“Um…. That didn’t make me feel safe….”
“I fear that I’ve neglected you too long and now you don’t come to me easily. I’d love to see you again. Soon.”
“I can’t help but notice your book, glasses, mustache and ponytail. Oh and your little book of notes. I’m dying to know, what are you reading?”
“You got this place smelling like a gas station bathroom.”
“How exactly did you hit my hip with your napkin? Twice.”
“Did you seriously just refer to Native Americans and make that noise…you know the one, gesture a headdress, AND say ‘you know, the one with the tipis’? Then, did you go into African American vs black? I’m thinking about accidentally spilling my drink on you. And I totally think you’re the silent farter.”
“Your conversation is disturbing my reading…and I am good at ignoring background noise. And why are you talking about cavities, whether treatment can be postponed, and the spectre of extraction at an eating establishment?”
“Why do I overhear you talking about taking the ACT? Wait, did I just hear you say PSAT?!?”