All I saw was the leavings of your nasty feast. The hot pocket sleeve four feet from the bus stop trash can. The empty hot pocket box on the lawn three feet from the trash can. The empty trash can, by the way. Don't give me any of this "it was the wind," crap. This is Seattle. We don't have wind.
And I don't want to hear excuses about raccoon. These were hot pocket wrappers, not food wrappers.
What kind of person would do that? Eat what you want, but the trash can was right there. Do you know how long it took me to bend over, pick up the hot pocket sleeve, and throw it away? Less time than it took me to write the words "do you know how long it took me." And that's with bending over! You could have thrown your trash away in literally half that time.
You are a bad person. You don't deserve to walk these streets. You know what? Maybe I could forgive you. Maybe I could let it go this one time. We've all had bad days. Maybe you were distracted by thoughts of, I don't know, Miley Cyrus or something.
But you were eating Lean Pockets. That's where I draw the line. Please, go back to what ever hell hole you were spawned in. Lean Pockets? What is even the point?
