“How are you?” His philosophical deliberations were broken by this idiotic question about one’s well-being people here used instead of a regular greeting.
“I’m fucked!” he thought, staring blindly through the windshield at an old lady overladen with shopping bags.
“Good, and yourself?” he answered, helping the woman put her shopping in the trunk.
Fuck me, like I care how she is, just get inside, tell me where to go and shut up.
“Been drizzlin’ today,” the grandma stated the obvious and it was clear she wasn’t going to shut up, she had to babble away, it’s so polite to chat up the driver. Especially a foreigner.
Jesus, here come the same old questions, what’s his name, how’s the traffic, where’s he from, where does he live, any kids, what time is he off ?
Too bad she wouldn’t ask if I took a dump today or if I get regular hard-ons, if I believed in God and loved my Mother, he thought, dreading the perspective of repeating the same formula for a thousandth time…