ugly on the inside

Twice this week I've had to deal with ugliness from strangers. A good friend had to also. A diabetic panhandler called me a "fucking prostitute" for not giving her any money. A creepy old guy stared at me on the bus and followed me around the Burien Transit Center until I told him to step off. He whined he hadn't done anything and then proceeded to sit in the front of the bus we both boarded and stare at me.
My friend was happily walking near GreenLake sporting a newly-shaven head and a cool dress when a db of a guy screamed bravely from his car, "nice haircut faggot." I want to believe in good, in humanity, in selam ana fikir, but sometimes I struggle. I know people are dealing with rage and miswired brains and plain old badness.
A friend studying criminology said she was taught there are 3 reasons for crime: bad, mad or sad.
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This picture is from Crescent Beach, on a very not-bad day spent beachcombing with my man. He was only in town for a few days but we saw friends and family, drank and danced and had homemade tater tots and my pizza and grilled zucchini and sausages and beans over a roaring fire and later tried to crack each other up with the best rip.