Fuck Marie Antoinette

"I'm a paralegal."

“I’m a paralegal.”

Last month I moved into a new apartment. I live in a third of a house, and a family lives in the other two-thirds. As is always the case with apartment living, it’s been……interesting.
The people in the house ain’t the friendliest bunch. But I’m not complaining. They’re a thousand times better than the neighbors from hell whom I dealt with last year and wrote about here and here and who eventually drove me away. Plus my new landlords are actually really nice. She’s Chinese and beautiful. He’s Serbian and beautiful. They have a child who is, not coincidentally, beautiful. Not all people are beautiful (that’s called foreshadowing).

My first night in the new town, I drove to the supermarket. As I circled the parking lot looking for a parking space, there was this guy walking about 20 feet next to me. There was also a Jeep driving in front of me. Suddenly a blue plastic bag came flying out from the Jeep’s front passenger window, and it peeled off. The man nearby ran up to the bag and picked it up.
At first I thought the man, like I am, was disgusted by someone tossing litter out of their car. People who throw garbage out of cars deserve to be publicly flogged. They angry up my blood in record time. I thought the man who picked up the bag was gonna run after them and give them a good haranguing for what they’d done. Instead, he tucked the bag inside his jacket, looked around, then scurried off to his car. This wasn’t littering. It was a drug deal. And I’ll be honest. When I saw it…I laughed.

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