Hey, You!

I was at one of those bars on Newport Boulevard in Costa Mesa, sitting at an empty table, eating my peanuts and drinking my IPA, when you and your group sat at my table. No problem: You were young and sort of good-looking. But you started talking about White Power almost as soon as you sat down. I didn't argue because I've learned to treat the insane as special people. Then you stripped off your shirt and showed your young, taut, tattooed body to everyone until you were asked to put that shirt on again. I talked with the female next to me, asked her if she liked older men, stroked her thigh once, and you bitch-slapped me. It didn't hurt. My first thought was to lunge across the table and stab you till you were dead with the knife I always carry when you told me to ?learn some respect. This from a bitch who talks about "killing the niggers." My second thought was that I had to go to the wedding of one of my best friends the next day, and if I killed you, I would probably spend that day in jail. So I sat there and stared at you while your female friends asked if I was okay. Yeah, I was okay, but next time I see your little White Power ass, I am going to hurt you.

Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com.

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