Hostile

The angry woman on the sidewalk

Angry woman on the sidewalk“Excuse me!”

I shout it. It’s out of my mouth too quickly but I’m glad.

I can feel my eyes widen, and hers meet mine.

She looks as if she wants to be helpful; as if she hasn’t just crossed right in front of my path to get into some store. She doesn’t even  notice. The nerve.

I hurry up to meet her as she asks, “Yes?”

“Why’d you have to cut me off?” I’m still shouting. I can’t help it.

She looks confused. Ha! Just because I was a few feet away, just because she probably thinks she could’ve gotten inside without slowing me down.

Doesn’t matter. The nerve.

“I’m sorry,” she stutters. “I really didn’t mean to.”

Bullshit. Let those cheeks go red.

“Oh yes you did,” I say, quieter this time. My head is cocked and my eyes are wide and she looks a bit frightened.

Good.

“I really didn’t,” she tries again, like a moron.

I don’t want to look at those pleading eyes any longer. Even if it’s better than not being noticed at all. I walk off, thump my hand upside my head.

Some people. Idiots.

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