Putting the anger in stranger
A stranger yells at me in the street. I don’t know him, I’ve done nothing to him, yet he feels the need to put me in my place. “Purple hair doesn’t make you more interesting!”
I pause. I gather my thoughts. 99% of the time I’d walk away, but for this one shining moment, I am without mercy.
“And being a dick doesn’t make your penis bigger, ironically, yet here we are.” He opens his mouth to retort, but I interrupt – this one’s a monologue, bitch.
“Of course, it couldn’t be that I just like having purple hair, can it? No, ridiculous. I must be seeking attention!” Guilt. I should have taken the moral high ground, should have walked on with my head held high, but it is too late now. The beast is loose. I must eviscerate him.
“Why would anyone ever want to be different to you, with your white trainers and your stylish tracksuit? Truly, sir, you are the epitome of class. Anyway, since your time is clearly valuable, I’ll be on my way. Sorry for my awful, awful hair.”
I smile, I walk away, I regret it. Later.