To listen to old people whinging like fuck is a pastime I rather enjoy. I’ve heard every sort of complaint from them all I know all the tricks they deploy.
They reel you right in with their whispy demure and maintain that they all had it worse than the kids of today who don’t know what they’ve got, as they scrabble for change in their purse.
In a line for a brew you can smell them in front as the rose water seeps from their pores. They complain out the blue for a pitiful sigh as the rest of the line just stands bored.
Can you tell that today is a bad day to be in a cafe that feeds my mistrust? But to try and to feel any empathy will lead my caring to just bite the dust.