We had a long talk, you and I. I won the argument and everyone on the bus thought I was great and you were an arse.
Actually, no-one said a word to you but everyone still thought you were an arse.
You got on the bus in Lucan and sat 3 rows behind me on the other side of the aisle. I was listening to my mp3 player and I could still hear every tortuous screech of guitars and crash of drums emanating from your deafened-by-death-metal ear phones.
I hate you.
In my head, I very calmly asked if you would mind please turning down your volume. In my head, you said "Fuck off, you fat bitch."
In my head, I replied "I'm pregnant. Is your problem glandular?"
In my head, you sheepishly turned down your volume. There may have been an apology.
In fact no-one said anything and we all sat and silently fumed and wished that you could at least have had decent taste in music.
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