i had seen him too little too late and mine was the first car in line. not that i could have altered my route with any time-efficient success.
"aw... c'mon baby!" he sang back before applying his squeegee to my rear window.
the local news reported one day last week that a new study showed a 30% increase in the numbers of houston's homeless in the last ten years. with numbers reaching approximately 16,000, you can bet you will run into a steady stream of transients no matter where you go... from the old white man who hobbles by with a wave of his hand at each car hoping someone will buy one of his papers to the young hispanic man in a wheelchair hocking bottles of ozarka to the group so dirty you can't discern racial heritage huddled together under the overpass as the automobiles of workers stream toward offices. it's overwhelming to say the least and a source of constant discomfort as they all amble towards your vehicle... whether by hopping or spinning or dragging themselves by their knuckles.
"dude... get the fuck off my car." i said in a steady, slow, yet loud voice.
sigh "i said... get OFF my car."
it was somewhere between these two phrases that i realized he could, most likely, hear me.
i said the second phrase because i knew i normally would have under inaudible circumstances and to cover my foiled hidden aggression.
that's right! i said mean things where you could hear them! you had your warning! i was nice once. and that, my friend, was your only warning.
i slinked away trying to feel good about my evil deeds.