Mr. V-Neck

There he is. Mr. V-Neck. Sitting at a table in bauhaus talking to a cute Puerto Rican boy. There he is. With his trashy looking white V-Neck, speaking with a cadence of education of  behind those trendy gucci looking classes. There he is- wearing expensive jeans  that have been rolled up into shorts with torn sneakers and white socks. There he is- with his fingers twiddling, talking about the crackheads living near his belltown apartment. There he is- trying to explain his confrontation with a heroine addict-a confrontation he lost because he tried to rationalize the addict into not being an addict; thus, failing to "save" the poor man. The poor man responded. I take heroine because I will feel sick if I do not. He says, but you know it is an addiction. You should stop. 

Mr. V-Neck continues talking. There he is-talking about this new concept "gentrification" that only happens in San Francisco-without any knowledge of the fact that his belltown yuppiness is what is gentrifying capitol hill. Do you think they are building the condos for the scenesters?

Mr. V-Neck...you make me so angry. Not only do I think that the V-Neck looks horrible on you, but I do not appreciate your assumptions about the world. However, I must be understanding. I cannot let these judgements cloud my mind Mr. V-Neck. You might be a wonderful person-just like Puerto Rican boy who seems to dote on your every word. You might-and I should give you respect as a human being. But I cannot right now.

The social awkwardness of barging into a conversation to explain a city's microeconomy and the philosophy of addiction prevents me from leaving my Macbook to run in front of this speeding train of ignorance. How angry I am at you, Mr. V-neck.