Book, Interrupted

You know what's great? Reading a book. An actual book, not something on a goddamned Kindle or e-reader or other embarrassingly-named product people use to pretend they're literate. And not some shitty book like whatever young adult terror fiction happens to be captivating the sub-frittata demographic. So there I am, sittin' at a coffee shop and reading my actual book, looking superior and intelligent, making all the honeys think, "Oooooh yeah Joyce gets me hot," until -

Here you come, determined to get all up in my reading space. Of course.

Me: (pretending to ignore your approach)
You: "Oh hey! What're you reading?"
Me: (vague gesture towards book cover)
You: "What's it about? Is it good?"
Me: "FUCK OFF AND DIE FOREVER."

Yeah, I'm in public, so you think you can talk to me. No. You are wrong. I am here for two things. Three, if you count the coffee, but mainly 1) to read and 2) to be left the fuck alone. Get up, walk away, and stop bothering me, you fucking dick.