I thought about crushing his legs between my car and the Mercedes in front of me, but only for a fleeting moment.
It wasn’t really me though. Just a few thousand rouge neurons, out of the trillions in my brain, firing with fiery rage.
I was stuck in traffic and saw a guy blatantly toss a food wrapper to the ground.
He proceeded to cross the street, right in front of my car, and I really wanted to be karma’s delivery boy.
There you go mother fucker.
Littering career: over.
Thank you very little.
“Gabe, this isn’t very spiritual of you. This isn’t the Gabe I know. You’ve disappointed me.”
Good. Go read someone else’s words.
I don’t exist to offer sugary spoonfuls of what you’re expecting to hear.
(Obviously I’m not talking to you. I’m addressing everyone else but you).
I only exist as this expression of existence and sometimes this expression of existence is tempted to express itself as the righter of wrongs.
And sometimes I do.
But I swear, it’s out of love. The toughest of love. For all involved.
If not me, then who?
Right, there’s you.
Thank god for you.