flab fiction

on my hidden from view balcony I walk out shirtless, a practice much to the chagrin of some of my fitness body snobs in my network, who of course have unfollowed me. the rich people across the road in their architectured house gaze at me from their Di Morrissey circumstance. big ol me shows em my guns, ie biceps, and they with their hyacinth summer hats realise it's impolite to stare.

and i'm impolite too, laughing and throwing the "bourgeois" epithet their way at audible yet reasonable volume.