The Pompous Ass

He was sitting on the tube reading his telegraph folded in half horizontally down the middle, held out in front of him with his arms not resting on anything, almost like an endurance test. Clad in a pink shirt (bound to be Pinks) with a feint blue check matched with a blue tie with pink stars.

Pompous ass, I thought. Judgemental perhaps but he was. Deconstructing my prejudice about his ass-ness I wondered what exactly made me think that when I had never spoken to the poor man. Its the way he sits, his pointy nose, the way he folded his suit jacket just so. Harsh, I thought, always jumping to conclusions. Perhaps I'm the pompous ass.