I looked up from my lunch and saw a fat boy.

I looked up from my lunch and saw a fat boy:
white ear-buds tethered to the tablet he tenderly toted.
Behind him flowed another fat boy and another:
guts spilling the banks of their trousers and endless chins issuing forth from a lipid spring.
Then came the mother's mighty girth surging through the door:
cross hung from a thin gold necklace strung round what now approximated her neck.

I hated her. I hated the boys. I hated their faith and family and everything they stood for.
I hated the burden they would place on me. I hated the negligence and selfishness of their condition.
I hated the tablet and I hated the Longhua suicide factory it came from.
I hated their waste and their soon to be unfinished meals packaged separately and thrown away together long after the bread was broken and dipped and gobbled up.

I could no longer stand their presence.
I threw away the bread-bowl, the plastic cup, the napkin.
I drove away burning long dead life and spitting it out my tail pipes into the sky.