. .prosodic arson. . . . . . .(header pic tribute to Zilon).

I don't know who you are or where you are from. The things you do fill me with strife. I wonder if I have seen you before: driven by you or walked passed you on the sidewalk catching the slightest immemorable glimpse of your sullen face. Maybe you live next door or just down the street. I might see you every day, smile and wave. I don't care who you are or for your name. I'm sure I've heard it before much like your excuse.
If you would stop and think about your actions, enter another's shoes would you feel remorse? Would you even be able to see how much fun what you tore down was? Is your malicious frown worth countless smiles? What you took from me was a simple joy that did you no harm. Out of sight and out of your way you probably just stumbled upon it and destroyed what I worked hard to build simply because you didn't understand it: understand why someone or something would need it or get pleasure from it. You're so human it hurts me to be part of the same species.
You're just an asshole.