To the sad, old dip-shit with the hacksaw

I was crossing at Agricola and Robie, stoked on the sunshine. I saw you rapidly approaching with a tool in hand. Thinking you were in a hurry to cross the street, I moved out of your way. You turned and screamed at me, “It's a f**cking saw, girly, not a gun.” Your verbal assault ruined my perfect day, and f**k you, too, the many onlookers who said nothing. —Sad North Ender