A creature with a ridiculous beard forgot how to drive, yesterday. The middle finger he offered was made of papier-mâché. The cocoon of his car is much less safe after the stalking of dozens of miles. His bravado as flimsy as his off-white Volvo. Eyes fixed straight ahead and slinking lower in his driver seat with every passing mile. A millennial unprepared to resolve his carelessly watered confrontation like a man. His last-ditch escape was a hairpin U-turn into oncoming traffic. You fucking chickenshit.
10:36 a.m. - 2017-03-27
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