To Whom This May Concern

To the woman who shoved me as she reached for the carafe of creamer with her transparent blue hand, who called me rude for standing in the way, who ruined her dark roast by adding half-and-half, who muttered with sticky venom how insolent a worker I was, who slammed her cup in an effort to replace the mess I had just wiped up, and whisked herself into a frenzy all the way to the front door until she crossed that barricade that she built herself, I mean it when I say:


Fuck you.

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