I asked once
I asked once, while I was sitting and looking out of a coffee shop window, a window - by-the-by - that I never wanted to be sitting in front of (a coffee shop - how preposterous). Anyway... I asked once "What is it you like about that?"
She replied, "I don't know."
And I had no idea where to take the conversation from there. I looked out the coffee shop window, hating that moment. I hated the local alternative paper. I hated the idea of someone in there being smarter than me. I hated the idea that no one knew me and or thought I was a "narc". I hated the idea of being in a coffee shop, a place that had nothing to do with me. A coffee shop is such an inanely succinct bowl of perfunctory filled with vapid scarecrows that bark out nonsense like "I don't know."
I wanted to scream. "BUT YOU'RE IN A COFFEE SHOP!!! AND YOU'RE DRINKING COFFEE. AND YOU'RE STARING OUT A WINDOW!" How could she not know? How could she not have an opinion to rattle out of her rattling head? Where was the sense in all of this?
It made me hate like fire searches air. It made me seethe in my seat that I was in this place with these neophyte fake Marxists over hearing talk about custom beers and local bands. I was smelling their yesterday's grease basket and staring at their 'I don't care' clothing and wanting to punch the life out of all of them with a sledge hammer.
I asked once. I asked once and I almost killed someone over a simple 'I don't know.' Let that be a lesson to those seeking to conform the conformed. Answer the question - with at least a question.
