bottled anger

During your morning commute, what will be on the tip of your lips when you’re caught off guard and seething with anger?
If you’re the woman I saw this morning who was narrowly missed in the crosswalk by a driver who didn’t see her, it’s “asshole!” and “fucking asshole” to me, as if, as a fellow pedestrian, I’d be sympathetic.
If you’re the guy on the bike who has just had to brake suddenly while a car darts in front of him to make a right turn, it’s a silent middle finger, extended from a gloved right hand as the other steers the bike.
If you’re me at the end of the day, already halfway across a crosswalk as a lady drives through it, with her window rolled down, it’s an audible “nice, real nice.”

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