Right now I’m on my stoop typing this bullshit
and this newly-married couple, who just got

back from their honeymoon, are standing in the
parking lot talking to another couple

about the pair of three-hundred dollar shoes
He picked up for one hundred Euros. “Look, they’re

real Italian leather,” I hear him say. Then
his little birdy starts chirping about how

“Four hundred steps up a medieval tower…”
“Four-eleven,” he interrupts. “Thank you, dear,”

She says, and you can hear the disconnect there.
Anyway, blah-blah-blah, she had a panic

attack at a disco in Italy or
something. They drank coffee. Who the hell knows? I

don’t care … they’re literally ten feet away.
I’m writing and smoking and I swear to God,

he just said a McDonald’s chicken sandwich
costs 3.50 Euro in Italy and

they waited an hour in line for one. Dear
Lord, this is like Bizarro Pulp Fiction world

and have I mentioned that I hate these people?
Now they’re talking about Olive Garden and

Popeye’s chicken. They just got back from Rome. Rome!
As in Italy? Wait … wait … no. They’re talking

about trying to find Coke over there and
I’m pretty sure it’s not a euphemism

for the white stuff. Thank heavens, you know? I mean,
I don’t want to be living next to Coke heads.

I may not like these people, but at least they’re
not junkies. They’re just hipster yuppies. You know…


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