Shit in a supper dish 

Idiot neighbors vomited in one of my paid, assigned parking space. It was fresh when I got home, and right where the driver would step out. 

I angled the car so I didn’t drive or walk through it. You know, there are always cigarette butts around my car, and skid marks like someone aimed for the rear bumper. Now vomit. 

Mom says they were in the garage all day, letting their demon spawn run and scream while they fought. Explains the throwing up. 

The garages connect two buildings. I hope others complained.

This vomit shit reminds me of having gum thrown in my hair by bullies. I knew I didn’t deserve it. I knew I was a better person. And I knew I’d rise in this world while karma shit in their supper dishes. 

I’ve seen that come to pass. So too will this. I just hope the classy, snooty people who own the spot to my left don’t think I made that mess. 

Just pray with me that I am strong enough to resist lobbing a bag of flaming cat turds on 2409’s doorstep. 

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