LOU RASMUS

Yesterday I went to a dinky little diner, and I had a greasy little breakfast, and I talked to this old little racist man about how dangerous big cities are:

“There’s so much crime,” he said.

“I know,” I said back.

“There’s just so many gangs,” he said.

“I know,” I said again, and I started eating my greasy little breakfast a little bit quicker. But I couldn’t finish it fast enough. I couldn’t finish it before he told me a story about this one time when he was working in a city, on some odd job or another, and he was approached by a gang member. I stopped him. “How did you know it was a gang member?”

“Well he had all these tattoos on his face, so…”

So obviously it was a gang member. Then he went on to tell me that he put his gun to the gangsters head, and threatened to pull the trigger if he didn’t leave him alone.

I said, “wow,” even though I couldn’t help but think that this old little racist man was just being racist.

“So just stay out of those cities,” he said. “They’re not safe.”

“I know,” I said. Then I finished my breakfast. Finished my coffee. Paid. And I left the dinky little diner to find a tattoo parlor where I could get a face tattoo. Fucking old little racist man.