8PM, leaving the gym.
Windows down, riding that wave of energy, that swoll.
Track 9 on my CD: “Love You Like A Love Song” by Selena Gomez.
There is no need to qualify why I listen to her or this song. It’s very good. That is all.
Girl in Prius pulls up, rolls window down. “Great song dude!” she sarcastically shouts, then sticks her tongue out.
In a classic case of l’esprit d’escalier, I failed to have a decent comeback, so I smiled sheepishly.
Sonofabitch.
But then as I saw her drive away, I noticed an enormous gash on the side of her car. Like Wolverine walked by and straight up tore a chunk of metal off the drivers’ door.
Poor bitch. She just wished she could’ve been in the passenger seat of a non-damaged car singing Selena Gomez alongside me.
It’s too bad for her “Prius driver” is atop my list of turnoffs.