Real World Terror: Why do I keep coming here?

     Once again, I found myself leaving the confines of my sepulcher with the company of my own, my wife left behind to do the things that evil women do in the dark. 
     Traveling as we do, we go from place to place in search of new tomes from which to read, or scrolls from which to learn. With a clasped cup of dark roast in on claw and a new edition of Writer's Digest in the other, I settled into a nice high-backed chair and prepared myself for an intriguing read.

     And then they began talking.
     Insipid little trolls the lot of them, I curse High School students back to the Abercrombie & Fitch from whence you came!

 

Essentially it's own layer of Hell in my eyes.

     So as the two boys and three girls settled around a table, my father off purchasing his own coffee, I did my best to ignore the little cretins and read my magazine in peace. Alas, such peace eluded me as one of the girls, whom I will merely name Ashley as I have already purged her name from my mind, spoke to me directly.

     "Are you a writer?" She asked, pointing at my magazine. I fought the urge to merely roll it up and strike her on the nose with it, instead choosing to merely nod. "That is so cool, what do you write about?"

     "Horror mostly, though I occasionally touch on politics and religion." I replied, choosing to ignore the shortest of the two boys, who was giving me a glare for stealing the attention of Ashley, attention which she should obviously be lavishing upon him.

     "Have you been published, or do you just run a shitty blog?" He asked with the best sneer he could manage, something that might well make my wife laugh if she had been there to see it.

     "Oh, I've been published numerous times, but I also run a shitty blog. I doubt you've heard of it."

     "What's it called?" Ashley asked, pulling out her smart phone.

     Rolling up my magazine, I sighed and told her the name her fingers dancing across the small fold out keyboard her phone had as she searched the internet for this "shitty" blog.

     My father returned, sans coffee, and sat to read a guitar magazine while I resumed reading my own, while the trolls turned back in on themselves and did what good little trolls do.

     As we got up to leave, however, she waved at me and gave me a thumbs up. To this I assume she either liked my blog or liked me. Knowing that I have an attitude akin to the prickliest of porcupines, I assumed she must have read something she liked on my blog.

     So, to Ashley: should you be reading this and find offense, I do not apologize. What I offer is a condolence. For you to waste your time with the piece of trash that attempted to be snide with me is, from where I sit, an act of charity on your part. You are a far better person than I.

     Sweet Dreams