five open letters to the people i work around while sitting outside the coffeeshop across the street

dear dude-who's-name-is-probably-(sean) (shawn) (shaun) (shhhaaahhhhnnnn).

hi. i understand that you are "aiming" for columbia--which your unsuspecting companion with the braids, age twenty, current attendee of mount vernon university and art major (painting, mostly) thought was "in south carolina," which, good job on our state capitals kid, but not quite the right answer, next family please--in order to go be a patent attorney, and therefore it obviously behooves you to strike up conversations in what could just be the loudest voice possible with strangers sitting outside of angel falls in the ninety-four degree heat, but i would like to share with you some words of wisdom: stop telling people they don't have any life experience just because they're younger than you are. miss "i was born a slacker" and i certainly, though we are not twenty-nine like yourself, haven't been living under rocks. though i don't want to speak for slacker-braids, far be it from me to do so. i'm sure, if she has a rock, it's lovely. the point is: shut up. thanks.

also, stop telling people you are a graduate of the "school of life," because, what?
catherine "pain hate pain" loya, JD candidate.

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dear girl with inappropriate white shirt and too-big sunglasses and oh my God, is that your thong sticking out of your pants?

greetings from earth. listen. i can see you are a "liberated" woman, a "free spirit" who likes to talk to butterflies, or some shit, and because of this status you of course are going to be "buddying" around with the guys whilst bumming cigarettes (basics? are you kidding me?) and "ribbing" them about "last night," but is it necessary to sit directly behind me during this boring production? yes? okay. that's fine, i can handle that. what i absolutely cannot handle, on the other hand, is when you begin the natural progression from "how's your girlfriend, zander?"--or whatever the hell that dude likes to be called--to "have you guys been to that porn shop down the block?" because of course they have, and of course they saw the "bag lady porn," which, remind me to thank you for educating me on the subject, and how it's not actual "like, homeless ladies," it's "like, skanky girls with bags over their ugly faces," so in conclusion: shut up. also? shut the fuck up, because that's not being a free-spirit, that's being gross and cruel and dehumanizing. so nice work, starshine. why don't you go play in traffic?

take me to your leader,
catherine "it's not the porn, it's you" loya, citizen of earth.

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dear members of the girl-rock group that live around here and are always staring at me and talking to me and asking me what i'm doing later.

while i am on your side, i am not "on your side," if you know what i'm saying. i do like your tattoos.

cordially,
catherine "boys, boys, all kinds of boys" loya, still not interested.

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dear cross-dressing gentleman with torn fishnets and pair of heels i think a friend of mine has.

i'm sorry i never have any cigarettes you like. you may want to try girl with inappropriate white shirt and too-big sunglasses and oh my God, is that your thong sticking out of your pants? see, the thing is, you don't annoy me half as much as the other people around here. you want to know why? because i like your makeup. that's right, i like the green eyeshadow. it just goes well with the black--or is it purple today?--feathery hair. and expertly applied. i just don't think i could apply my own makeup so well. also, you talk about interesting things like how hard it is to find someone who doesn't a) beat the shit out of you or b) want to have sex with you. i know you didn't say "have sex," but i have some readers who object to harsh language, and not that i would normally mind, but i want them to like you. i'm sorry about that trouble with your boyfriend. please, vanessa, try and find someone nice.

and thank you for not telling me the mechanics of your sex life,
catherine "which is more than i can say for the people who actually know my name" loya, very sincerely.

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dear young mother who left her practically infant child in a stroller, outside, in the burning heat, under the barely-conscious and not-watchful-at-all care of some dudes drinking off their hangover and smoking pall malls, while she went in to get a bubble tea.

you do realize that the only reason i'm not inside breaking your wrists is because i'm saving my strength to subdue and maim the possible baby-snatchers?

get a fucking baby-sitter,
catherine "you dumb bitch" loya, unafraid of words.