You know the one. That fantasy you have? Just when you thought your Gandhi-esq, Martin Luther King Jr inspired quest for non-violence was nearing completion, it happens. Maybe it's after you've worked a double shift and you've finally made it home and JUST when you're about to fall asleep, some selfish POS driving a sound amplified vehicular disaster zooms past startling you awake, not once, not twice, but thrice times. And then you wish you had it: A high grade military powered rocket launcher. So you could blow that mother fucking vehicle to smithereens. Oh, the satisfaction that would lie therein! Course you never would. It's a ridiculous fantasy. But fantasies can be fun. For me, it was this a SE coffee shop. Home to the biggest, most passive aggressive, freaking human being to ever work behind a counter in Portland. Food? Good. Customers? Good. Employees? Even better. But not you. You were the most toxic person to ever take a food order I'd ever come across. You even surpassed that dude playing a barista in the movie Hallpass. Never so badly had I delved into that fantasy as when I would come into your store and have to suffer through another verbal exchange with your bitch face. Course it was just a fantasy. But sometimes when I walk past and I see it out of business and you no longer working there it makes me smile. I wonder if you single handedly put that place out of business with your shitty attitude. It's not a rocket launcher, but it'll do. And it's real.