To the young man standing outside the barbershop, smoking a joint and coughing up several (seven actually) unique balls of gob from your throat and projecting them across the pavement toward the bus stop where I was standing tonight, I'd just like to let you know that you are not cool. In fact, you are so gross I nearly vomited. On the last gob, I couldn't help emitting a little "Ugh" sound, and when you looked over, I told you how much I felt like vomiting. You cheerfully replied "it's only spit, dear." No it fucking wasn't. It was half the contents of your diseased lungs and it was so horrid and antisocial. Next time, spit AWAY from people. Thank you.
—Spitting mad