Finally I remember where I met them before, the dimwits who write the ignorant, sometimes vicious, almost always anonymous comments here and there on the Internet. You’ll find some of their babble and snark down at the bottom of nearly any news story.
They used to be drunk and scratching inane and/or obscene phrases and/or images on the walls of public bathrooms. Maybe they still do that when they’re not smearing feces around in cyberspace.
Sadly, few if any of these typers* have much imagination. There used to be way better stuff on the walls at Joe’s Place in Iowa City, where I sat in a booth and did my German homework over coffee in the morning more than once and where I met the love of my life.
That was long after that one day in Paris, when I ate the last mango.
* Like I’m going to call them writers or even typists? Please.
The Smith Compound 