Oh no. Don’t thank me. Thank you. Thank you for your pushiness and reminding me that even in my lunch hour I can’t escape people. It’s great. Really. It’s fantastic. Grounding. Because you’re entitlement reminds me that there are people in the universe so far up their own arse that they can impose their desires on other people. You selfish piece of shit. And I mean that in the most positive way. I’m so glad. Because I often think that my life is terrible, but it’s good to have that confirmed by someone typing on a fucking mac book out in the street. You wizened middle aged Sasquatch. Go home if you can’t handle the great outdoors, and the people who need to abate their anxiety with a tiny white stick of fucking pestilence and cancer. I am so sorry that my constant state of fear and nervousness is bothering your picturesque roadside meal, you absolute fucking shit stain. I hope you get mugged. I really do. I hope that someone holds you at knifepoint because I would love to see you politely ask them to go away. Arsehole. Arsehole. Arsehole.