It's wicked to mock the afflicted

A couple of friends and I were having coffee at a little shop that served gelato and fancy liquors. Next to our table was a couple. She was tall and elquonat with sharp spanish looking features. One could imagine some aristicatic ancestry. He was all american. He was dressed in the standard uniform of the american jock. Baseball cap, t-shirt, khaki shorts and sandles. We couldn't help eavesdropping on their conversation. They were having a sofistcated conversation about art and culture that compliments overpriced coffee and fancy tarts. All of a sudden you could see he was distracted from the conversation. He watched, with fearful recognition, two other jocks leaping out of a jeep that had just parked. He fumbled to keep hold of the conversation thread with the girl but it was obvious the mirage was about to vanish.

"What's up assface?" The two newcomers chorused. The conversation changed from Camus to kegs and lost the female's participation and any chance the poor boy had with her.