As I sit drinking my Diet Coke at a Cafe in Anytown, I am looking at a woman that I think I am going to have to hurt.    Sure, it's a world where everyone brings their laptop everywhere and tries to seem important.  Good God, I'm doing the exact same thing right now.  But this woman is special.  She is about thirty five years old with a modified short mullet and sideburns. Her pasty white face is supporting a hideous pair of glasses that make her seem like Woodsy Owl's inbred cousin. Her dirt encrusted feet are jammed into the ugliest pair of Birkenstock sandals in a town overflowing with ugly feet in ugly Birkenstock sandals . Her dimpled flab jiggles beyond the reach of her cut off jean shorts.  Now the part that makes me want to hurt her.  She has her laptop with her and is typing so loudly, so fervently, it seems her fingers are pounding through her keyboard to the table underneath.  It's probably the most exercise she gets.  POUND POUND POUND. Does she think her stubby fingers hitting the keyboard like monster truck pistons make her more profound?  Maybe I won't hurt her physically.  Maybe I'll destroy her spirit by merely standing over her and breathing.  Yes, that's what I'll do.  I'll go hover over her and breathe.