When I turned into the aisle the books were on the floor, but to watch you step over them, not even around but over trying to make it look like you didn’t notice them, because it’s not your problem or it’s the duty of whatever clerk happens to walk by, infuriates me to no end.
Scared you we going to break a precious fingernail? That your tiny lil waist might snap in half if bent over? Scared someone might think you’re a human being?
Yeah, glare back at me as I glare at your snobbishly upturned snout.
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