I hate you in the car. I hate you in the truck. I hate you in the SUV. Your fumes smell like burning flesh. You accelerate, igniting another IED. You pump the blood of dead American soldiers into your tank. 89, 90, 92 octane, don't worry, bodies don't clog fuel injection systems.
The bus smells like piss and vomit. A drunk mother yells at her children. It's too crowded to get on. You fight to get off. Who are these people? You're better than them.
It's cold out, and it's a long walk to the train. It stops far from your destination. More walking makes your muscles sore. Or are your muscles sore from not walking?
Adults look funny on bicycles. Did you get a DUI? Are you working retail? Honking, jockeying, close calls. No respect. Does this thing run on steak and potatoes? It barely carries a grocery bag.
Take out your credit card and fight. Your aim is precise, smart even. Bam! More stuff. Bam! Less effort. Bam! You win. Blood flows through the streets in crude black rivers. Children watch it drain down the sewer pipes, thousands of miles from your home.
Printing pictures of body bags is illegal in the U.S. The legislative exhaust pipe keeps your conscious clean, O emissions from your decisions. Go drive to the store, buy some convenience, it won't kill you.
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