hand on face

Yelled at a black guy today.

- (shaking his head, hand on face) Oh, Jesus...Jesus...just Jesus—What were you thinking!

And while I was yelling, I decided I was prepared to fight him.

- Did you inform him of such?

No, that would have sounded pretty gay.  None of my senetences made any sense.

- Made no sentences, huh?

Not really.

- That ain't classy.

But still it was colorful.

- Pales in comparison.

I think I told him to, "Fuck the shut up."  The rest of my words, I stuttered, till I could figure out another word—

- A colorful one, no doubt.

...Just made no sentences.

- What happened?

He couldn't get out of the parking lot.

- So you killed him!  That was your chance to take him out, yes it was.  Yes it was!  You took him out because he was black in the parking lot!  Practicing my lawyering.  What do you think?

I was prepared to hate everyone when I got to that street, because of the Wells Fargo parking lot traffic; everyone blocks traffic so they can get in.  

- No consideration when you're after yours.  

You can't get into any other business on the street without a good slapping your face cause your nose won't stop itching.

- So you killed him because he was a black man getting his money.  He has a job, he's getting his—and you can't stand that!  A black man getting his!

He wasn't getting his; he was getting coffee.  He probably bought one of my cookies, too.

- Then why'd you kill him?

I didn't kill him!  

- He was a black customer!

Look, you ingrate, I didn't kill him.  He could've just as likely opted for another product, healthier, one with more protein.

- He wasn't a customer—Say no more. It's all becoming clear to me.  He wasn't parting with his hard-earned money.  He eats salads and you resent that.

No, he wasn't even in the bank parking lot.  That's not an issue anymore.  He was in the lot I was going into.

- Then why did you yell at the black man doing his thing?

I don't know!  I was angry at the people who wouldn't let me back out when they drove by.

- They were probably going to the bank.  They were probably white.

Shit, they were probably Armenian.  I was already anticipating impatience and animosity turning into the street.  I snapped at him when he asked me a second time to back out while the cars wouldn't let me back out.

- Fuckin Armenians.

Those cars were domestic.  

- Hiding behind the Constitution!  What did he say exactly, the black? Was his language rhythmic?

You mean did he rap at me?  

- Elliot, you smug cocksucker.

He just responded that he wasn't yelling at me like I was yelling at him when he asked me to move back.

- And what did you do?

I rolled up my window and covered up my fuckin face.

- And what did you learn from his blackness?

- That he was also gay.