What The Fuck Is Wrong With People

It was a sparkling morning for a walk, still dark, just with the slightest blush of light starting to show in the sky above.

The street lights still dazzled like diamonds against the night sky.

The car headlights lit up the streets further than I could see, or cared to look.

There is something embracing about being cosseted by the dark in the fresh, early morning air.

As I start to cross Brunswick Street at Victoria Parade, there are no cars turning as I start to cross, as I get part the way across a VW Golf pulls up ready to turn left, the driver pointing semi angrily, presumably at the little red man I was then walking against, and without reacting, I think, what kind of miserable half-bit loser are you, buddy, that you can’t let someone cross the street without your sad, little tantrum. You are everything that is wrong with the world today you miserable tosser.