I was standing at the counter of Native Foods, waiting for my salad to be delivered, minding my own business. I feel something brush my posterior region. It's quick, but thorough. I turn, thinking that I was assaulted by a low-hanging purse of a passerby. I see a family walking away, but the mother (with her purse) is on the far side of the group. The member closest to me a twelve year-old boy, resolutely looking every direction but at me. His hand was still open and pointed towards me like it was the Millenium Falcon struggling to free itself from the tractor beam of my butt.
Why do these things happen? Is it because it's there, and through no fault of mine, "asking for it?"
By the way, remind me to never use the Death Star analogy again.
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