Rothing at the Mouth

Note to Exit Guard at NYPL (Main Branch):
This afternoon you seemed like a kindly man. I didn’t hate you even though you were missing teeth. I thought, “Oh, how nice. If it wasn’t for this job, this pleasant old bastard would probably be shuffling behind a Dumpster somewhere, picking desiccated flesh from an old chicken bone.”
So why, when I handed you my two books, did you have to practically caress “The Dying Animal” upon seeing Amedeo Modigliani’s Reclining Nude — and then, as you returned it to me, stare knowingly into my eyes and exclaim, “Ahhh, it is a beautiful book!” Was it really necessary for your chapped hand to linger on its cover? And did I really have to giggle coyly, to show that I wasn’t offended?
Thanks to you, Lech R. McLeery, I was forced to wonder, during my walk home, if you were imagining me reclining in a similar pose.
Tonight I hate you.