#3 its not mean if its type 1

The next stop of the day is Saint Nicole's Hospice. I love going there, but my enjoyment is severely dulled by the bus-ride. Milken Urban Transport System's busses have a habit of attracting over-ambitious parents in their late 20s and obnoxious babies. It always reeks of processed cheese and diabetes, two important factors of Americana...and some three-year-old brat just threw her Cheerios on the ground. It was an actual bowl of Cheerios, milk and all. I can't fathom how any sane couple would want to spend the rest of their life trapped raising a lost cause. I swear to fucking God, I will kill everybody here if I don't kill myself first. Oh, I've arrived at my stop. I walk into the shop and a college-bound hipster greets me at the door. "Welcome!" he says in a patronizing manner that's followed by a barely audible "...to Hell." Hell sure does smell like dust.