"Eeh! Fellow was spitting at my Shoes...? Another pushing folk one by one into the Gutters, some of them quite dangerous to look at'...? How can Yese dwell thah' closely together, Day upon Day, without all growing Murderous?"
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Lines 98-101 Vulgarized:
"Shit! Some dude spit on me? And some other guy was shoving people into the street, people who looked quite capable of random violence themselves? How the hell can y'all live rubbing up on each other all the time without just wanting to kill somebody?"
Subtext:
Dixon probably killed a guy for spitting on his shoes. But then, what city dweller hasn't? Dixon reaches the conclusion that people manage to live in cities without becoming murderous when he should reach the conclusion that those of us living in cities have all committed hundreds and hundreds of murders, even if they were all in our heads and usually about somebody ahead of us in a queue being a complete and utterly disrespectful, entitled asshole to the barista. I was going to say "clerk" but what am I? A small town rural who "shops"?! Ninety-five percent of my daily human interactions are with a caffeine supplier. What I'm saying, aside from the confession that I need to buy a coffee maker, is that to "become murderous" one does not have to physically commit murder. Imagining the blowhard honking his horn at the car in front of him as that car waits for pedestrians to cross immediately crashing into a lamppost and smashing his brains out on the inside of the windshield after angrily peeling out when the traffic begins to move can absolutely be considered "murderous."
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