Talking To Myself

The little boy was crying as he walked in front of his mother out of the food joint. She shoved him in his back with her knee. Highly overweight and loaded with a high pile of more food in her arms she shouted, “Move!!!” He kept crying while stumbling forward. She shoved him again with her knee so she could keep balancing the food and her phone. The grandmother yanked him up and struck him on his shoulder with her fist, “Shut up, she murmured.” Did she notice that I was watching, disgusted?
Didn’t they have any empathy for a little soldier crying? Was he tired? Had he eaten bad food or was he being bad? Maybe he was hungry. What can possibly be so bad when someone so little is less than two? Did any of it merit a shove and a punch from a so-called loved one?
I hate people more often than not and it’s why I stay so isolated because there is nothing I can do but watch in horror — and I don’t want to watch it and it’s everywhere I go, so I stay home, for the most part, so that I can live in a little bubble where everything is precious.
The one time I stopped to explain that the black asphalt was blistering her puppy’s feet while she was flirting, I got blasted for being nosy.
Why have a puppy or a child if there is no time for trouble? Stuff your face. Bury your head in your dysfunction – your plate filled with dead animals you didn’t think of either. Some good looking guy to notice how good looking you are strutting across the car park with your thin self and your little hybrid puppy and then stop to let him compliment you for awhile while your little hybrid puppy’s feet burn.
Yes, I’m judgmental – but I will keep it to myself except for here where I am talking to myself.
Dogs as props, babies too. What a shame.