HHhhmmm...

A butch girl with a dyke hair cut walks in the door to my right.

"What a fruit..." says the righteous Pentecostal by my side.

I smile and say nothing.

She looks back at me. Our eyes meet as an unspoken acknowledgment is passed between us.
We nod and lightly tip our caps to each other. We know.

He has every right to call her out. After all, he is going to Heaven. She is going to Hell.
To Hell, where moth and haircut doth corrupt and destroy!

It's okay though, I have long hair, so I am going to Heaven.


"Yes," I tell him, "she is a fruit."

Are any of us more righteous than the other? After all, we all three just judged one another in a few moments' time.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



As I check out, I notice a jar sitting by the register on the counter that has a hole punched in the top with a sign taped to it featuring a picture of a child in need. This charity begging me for my spare coins supports a foreign cause, funding food for the hungry mouths of African children and vaccines for their nasty diseases.

I look away; it's more convenient that way.

I'm not really in the mood right now to be generous or even emotional anyhow.

After all, your worth as a human being is determined by my mood, foreign child. I am comfortable on my American soil which is trampled underfoot by my new Nikes that were sown by the hands of a child slave in God knows what unfortunate country.

Too bad you caught me after I just watched an action flick at the theater where all the characters mercilessly shot down all who opposed their little mission. If only you'd appealed to me after I'd seen Hotel Rwanda. You caught me at a bad time, kid.

Besides, I should save what spare change I acquire anyhow.

I want that new Ipod....