If people could be as honest as cats, the world would be purr-fect.
You don’t think I see you at night, skulking around my windows? Because I do. And don’t let me catch you back by my shed one more time mister, or I’ll call the cops.
You think I won’t? Because I will.
I know what you and the rest of the glue-sniffing hooligans around here are up to, riding your bicycles around at all hours, listening to your jam boxes, or ghetto blasters, or whatever you call them.
What do you call those things?
Never mind. Who cares what you call them?
Not me, I can tell you that much.
I guess you don’t want to keep your hearing, blasting that hard rock music into your ears all day and night.
Do you want to lose your hearing? Well, do you?
I guess you don’t think you have to respect your elders. I guess you think you don’t have to answer a question when you’re asked one.
What do your parents think of your attitude? Do they even tend to you, or do they just let your run around like a long-haired, wild-eyed sex fiend?
What’s that? What?
You think I won’t turn the hose on the lot of you–you and your little paint-huffing friends?
Just try me.
