By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
Illustration by Bob AulSprawling sleepily on a mall bench on my break from a coffeehouse inside, I was recently treated to the kind of Christmas greeting I might have expected in Manhattan: "I hope you're comfortable, asshole." I was recovering from a 12-hour holiday marathon shift, and you—a snotty little (really little) yuppie with a bottle-blond girlfriend—apparently thought I was taking up too much space on the bench. I guess "Excuse me, Miss, may we sit here?" would have taken altogether too much effort.
I wonder still if it was your mother I ran into in the parking lot—a woman whose facial features I can't remember now, except for the sneer contorting her face as she saw the bumper stickers on my car. Yeah, I drive around with real offensive stuff, like "Go Vegetarian." But whatever. The point is she apparently wanted my space and had this extra-special Christmas message for me as she drove away: "Nice car, bitch!" Same to you—I really liked the Jesus stickers.
There's still time to change, of course. With a few hours left before the holiday, if you must leave the house, don't forget your fucking Christmas spirit.
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