Sitting there, ignoring, pretending to read my book but just staring at the page and making sure I know where you are so I know if you’re getting too close. Fuck you. I could get off and catch the next train, but I’m not going to delay getting home one fucking second because of your ego-hurt tantrum. Do you think you’re making a point? Do you think you’re going to get a reaction out of me? You’re nothing but an embarrassing byproduct of a broken social structure, an empty mouthpiece of entitlement and ignorance. You think you’re threatening, that you’re intimidating? You’re material for me. Nothing else. And I’m bored of you.
Hey, what’re you reading?
What are you reading?
I’m not really up for chatting, thanks.
C’mon. I just want to know what you’re reading. You like books?
I’d like you to leave me alone now.
I’m just asking you a question. You don’t have time to answer a question? Answer me and I’ll leave you alone, I promise.
…I guess you’re too fucking good to talk to me, aren’t you? I’m just trying to make conversation. What’s your fucking problem?
Fucking bitches, man.
Thank you’re too good. You walk around looking like that and then get all stuck up when someone pays attention to you?
I was just trying to be nice. Do you treat all men like this?
Yeah. Get home safe, bitch.