This is how we do it
It's not terribly surprising, then, that a car turning off of Fifth onto 43rd Street came within a hairsbreadth of taking me right the fuck out. He gunned it as he turned, too. Six inches to the left, and I'd have been road pizza.
Me personally, I don't take kindly to such potentially disastrous impositions. Thus, I reacted as any New Yorker would. I pounded hard on the side of his car as he passed, and screamed "YOU FUCKING STUPID ASSHOLE!" into his open car window.
I glanced around and caught a couple of horrified tourists gaping at me like they'd never heard a dirty word before. Um, okay. Sure folks. I'M the asshole for violating your pristine Midwestern eardrums with my scathing public profanity. That poor guy...you know, the one who ALMOST KILLED ME JUST NOW? I should be ashamed for subjecting him that kind of abuse!
Blow me, people. Seriously. Fuck you, fuck the place you came from, and fuck your momma too. I know tourism brings tons of cash to New York, but since none of said cash is going toward my ridiculous rent, I can just as well do without the jillions of jiggly-assed morons who pack our streets like so many slackjawed sheep. But that's just me.
Oh well. At least Richard Lewis totally checked out my boobs when I passed him on the street about ten minutes later. No, really. See? Living here, it's not all bad.