COFFEE

At the counter, I buy a vanilla and hazelnut coffee, put in cream and sugar.  I stare dubiously at the reading rack.  This coffee house is obviously into stereotyping, sports mags for the men and tittle-tattle tabloids for the women.  Not even one respectable newsmagazine for show.
I find a comfortable chair, near the window, sit back and watch the world go by.
My good mood soon vanishes.  It's those girls, they must hang out in this coffee house too.
They enter, settle in with coffee, and start talking loudly  in Dari.  Looking around, I don't see any other obvious Afghans, so thank heavens for small favors.
"Get a load of that dress.  This is the 28th century, how is  she gonna find a boyfriend without showing skin?  Gotta advertise."
"Go on, she'd never find one anyhow, so ugly she belongs in a burqa."
"Those went out centuries ago, she'd hafta sew her own."
"So how'd she get that fat job?  Jump the boss's bones?"
"No way, she so ugly a camel'd run away."
"What's that awful stink?  Suppose she ever has a bath?"
"Yeah, look she's so underendowed, you could dress her up as a tenyearold boy."
I finish my coffee, leave with perfect timing, so I'm there as the transit  door opens.  I breathe a sigh of relief, least they didn't follow me out, shoot their mouths off in the street.  But then, they wouldn't wanta waste the coffee.
So why are they so?  Hate me the person?  Highly unlikely, they vaguely know me, act this way with all traditional girls.  So I'm guessing they aren't too comfortable in their lifestyle.  If they were, they wouldn't need all the bravado.
Enough of that, on my way to a meeting to improve the website.