earlier tonight, i was running alone on the main road here in town and some sadistic asshole in a dark pickup truck threw a half-full bottle of water at my head. it was so dark out, i didn’t even see the bottle as it hurtled by me. only by piecing together the sounds could i make sense of what had happened: the peaking approach of a car from behind, a sudden whoosh just by my ear, followed by a resonant plop and the distinctive crinkling of plastic as the bottle deformed against the ground nearby. by the time i’d gathered my wits about me, they’d already sped off down the road and their license plate had slipped back into the inky murk. i knew instantly that there was nothing to be done, but at that realization, i found myself animated by such an intense rage - a hopeless, suicidal fury - that i sprinted ahead until my legs gave out and i felt my lungs sizzling in my chest, all on the faint hope that the truck might stop long enough to allow me to catch up to it, pry open the passenger door, drag that piece of shit out by the scalp, and beat him to death in the street. but they didn’t stop, and they’ll never stop; not ever. as time goes on, i feel less and less put off by the prospect of throwing my life away to revenge a petty humiliation.