When I say "Hey!", you make eye contact. You don't mutter "hey" to the floor and brush past me like I'm the lovechild of a gargoyle and Joseph Merrick that one of your friends pityfucked in a car outside the bar.
I don't care that you are in the top half of Grampa's favourite grandchildren. I don't care that your dad makes more money than everyone else in the family combined, and your mom doesn't consider me a real relative. You fucking look at me, in the eye, and return the greeting.
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