Or: a rant.

I swallow. I have to take a deep breath. I have to close my eyes. Otherwise I would start screaming and shouting. Screaming and shouting and showering the two Germans standing in front of me with spit. The two Germans who blocked the check-out in Lidl for 10 minutes. The two Germans who just realised their German bank card is not working in Ireland, after shopping 35 kilos of supplies without cash.

I would start screaming at the four fat Nigerian mamas and their 28 brats. The 4 Nigerian mamas chatting away as if they’re the only people in the world, while the queue at the grocery stand at the market is getting longer and longer.

I would start screaming at the three blokes in the last row of the bus. The three blokes who all purchased the same mobile phone model, the one that comes without headphones and only plays Scooter at maximum loudness.

I would start screaming at the drunken Polish idiot in the pub. The drunken idiot who thinks he replaced his local in rural Silesia with a Dublin Pub, without realising and acknowledging that he has moved to another country.

Surround me with people. Surround me with people who don’t think that Poe is a new supermarket chain. People who do not define their taste in music via ringtones. People who have read Joyce instead of Gazza’s autobiography. People who take life as it is, because one day we all will die a cold and lonely death. People who do not fill their live with numbness and meaningless colourful things.

But don’t make me scream.

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