Dear woman who comes to PJ's every day and sits for hours at the only outdoor table near an outlet

I hate you. I hate your unsmiling, sunburned face. I hate your cigarette smoke. I hate your pudgy hands, which aren't even usually typing away on your laptop. I hate the way that your computer could not possibly need to be charging for all six of the hours you're at the coffee shop, but you keep it plugged in anyway so that anyone who needs to charge their computers has to go inside, even though it's cold inside. I probably don't hate you because I've never talked to you. I think I've made eye contact with you once, and you had a rude look on your face, so that must count for something. Maybe hate is too strong a word, but woman who comes to PJ's every day and doesn't share the outdoor table near the outlet, I strongly dislike you and wish that you would go away because other people's computers need charging too.