ME! ME! ME!

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Dear woman waiting for the number 3 bus at the Dartmouth Terminal:
What sort of rotting soul do you have to have to cut to the front of the line, blocking a visually impaired woman from entering the bus?
Only the person grabbing her arm prevented that woman from stepping off the curb in front of the bus.
Your face was smiling as you slid into your hard-won seat, your tatted hand holding your protein shake bottle.
You are either oblivious or a shameless narcissist.
I vote for number two.
—The bitch on the bus goes 'round and 'round

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