Another valuable bit of self-knowledge was realized on the train platform this morning.
Though incessant days of (cold) high winds likely play a part to some degree, apparently a young adult girl sporting a Dorothy Hamil haircut (a la bowl) incenses me. To urges of violence. On sight. Like a junkyard dog.
The band instruments in tow by her and an obnoxious co-tow-er didn't help.
Co-: Ohmuhgawwwd! We have to get off on the other side!
me: It's okay. We're probably all getting off here.
And when the doors opened, they still flew into a panic and pushed their tourist arses through everyone else exiting, knocking throngs with gigantic encased band instruments. Hair judgment? Justified.
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