The Times

“It’s all the illigals comming in here, the refugees.”

I nodded into my salad and wrap. The wrap was some kind of special and it had chicken and avacado and mac and cheese but they put some kind of sweet sauce in it that was going crazy in my mouth, it was likely meant to insulate arteries. I got the salad on the side instead of fries. I tell people it’s because the doctor said I needed to get more fiber but in truth I actually enjoy having a balanced meal. I could eat five burgurs if they gave me a bowl of sliced cucumbers as well. I was trying to enjoy it, but this guy at the end of the bar was under the impression that we were having a conversation. 

I was all for polite conversation about the weather. He seemed a normal enough guy, probably in his 50’s and my job parking cars outside means I have to at least be decent at polite exchange. Im fine with baseball, or cars, or movies, but you don’t really need to commit much to a conversation about those things. I have my own life with my own issues and people to talk with about things that matter.  Thas when things took a turn.

“God damned illigals are vicious,this 7 year old girl killed and sodomized.”

What a fucking segue. The bar was quiet except for that guy. Trying to talk to me and trying to preach to me about things I could go the rest of my life without having to hear told to me as if he was some enlightened individual and I was some uninspired sheep. 

I know the tone well, him sitting there behind his computer and newspaper and leaning in so that I could hear the spouting of all hateful propaganda like it was the holy truth. I could imagine him trying to connect the age gap, they never sayit, they just push, men filled with songs about getting kicks and hopeful to be dead before they got to this point. 

Now they try, they want to catch a peice of what youth is through us and instill their own life into us like we need to hear it. It makes me sad because it’s not just people who believe they fill babies with heroine and throw them over the border who do this, it’s a lot, good people too, clinging on to a world they remember which isn’t there anymore.

I think of my father sometimes, not at all the level of insanity that this guy was throwing at me, but still with that longing in the back of his mind to be back to where I am, be in my shoes again. And I try to respect that, I don’t tell him to go away when he bothers me because I know one day that I will be there, and all I’d want is someone to talk to.

You might wonder how could I listen to that guy at the end of the bar and just nod and turn away, why dont I say anything, set him strait, argue and fight for the idea that people are people and some are bad and some are good. How could I explain that to a man who lived their whole life with a big bad enemy on the other side of the world that there are no easy enemies, that the big bad is only an idea.

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