Astor Place had been filled with shiny new buildings made of glass and chrome, all of them containing high-end art galleries. The streets had become crowded with gallery people--all of them with nasty, superior attitudes. I felt snubbed every time I walked through Astor Place.
After being snubbed and cut off too many times, when a man in fedora and trenchcoat cut across my path, I became irate. I screamed after him, "You cut me off? Fuck you, you artworld asshole! I'll shove a blowtorch up your ass and blow you straight to Hell!" He kept walking.
I hoped that using this course language would embarrass all the artworld people who wanted Astor Place to be a place of refinement.