On the walk home from the subway, I wonder if the guy who made eye contact with me as I walked up the stairs is following me home and hoping I turn down a side street so he can rob me. I find myself eyeing the small plots of earth where they planted trees along 7th Avenue, searching for rocks or pieces of trash that I can pick up to beat somebody over the head.
There’s an empty beer bottle, standing in front of a shuttered store front that might do the trick.
They say if you think everybody hates you, you need to take a nap, and if you hate everyone, you need to eat something, but what’s the solution when you find yourself imagining violent ways of murdering somebody with objects found on the street?
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