Tourist: Could you give us directions to Olive Garden?
New Yorker: No, but I could give you directions to an actual Italian restaurant.
Tourist: Wow, you're a pretty unpleasant person. Is there some deep emotional pain that you need to get out but you're just keeping under the surface and occasionally releasing through little jabs at well-meaning tourists?
New Yorker: No, leave me alone.
Tourist: I think you're suffering in a big way, emotionally. I mean, all I did was ask you directions. You don't know me, and yet you acted in a rather rude way towards me. I didn't do you any harm, and yet you lashed out like a recently-woken badger. Do you have problems maintaining meaningful relationships?
New Yorker: ...
Tourist: Do you feel that your Mother didn't love you enough?
New Yorker: Please...
Tourist: Go on, cry. Let it all out. Let all the pain out. Let out all that pain that makes you be irrationally hurtful towards people you don't know.
New Yorker: [Starts to cry]
Tourist: Yes, that's it. Here, hold my sweat cloth and pretend it's a teddy bear. Doesn't that feel better?
New Yorker: ...yes.
Tourist: Now, where's the fucking Olive Garden, you mentally stagnant piece of crap?
New Yorker: Down the road, turn left at the lights, it's a block down on the left.
Tourist: Thank you.
Jul 15th