Fomenting revolutionary discontent among friends.

The other Friday I met the (half British) (half Sudanese) sister of my one (half British) (half Sudanese) friend for drinks, and we ended up at this new wine bar near the apartment where she's living with her boyfriend.

She only recently got a job and at first she didn't want to go the wine bar since it was pricey, but since she recently passed a professional qualification exam and I'm doing okay with money and on top of all of that it was a new bar that I'd need to go to at some point, I insisted that we go and I'd buy, so we went.

We sat up at the cheese-carving area, since the place was packed with complacent (young) (mostly white) professionals and those were the only two seats open.

"Look at how complacent they all are," I whispered to her, looking around conspiratorily over my shoulder and eyeing the crowd behind us.

('Complacent' is my new favorite word.)

She agreed.

"What this place really needs is a brick through the window," I was like.

"I don't think that'd happen much around here," she was like.  "No one to throw them."

"Oh, but there's a lot of people who work here who are probably discontent," I was like.  "All it takes is a ski mask and a spark to set it off, then they march down the street chucking bricks through windows."

"Perhaps," she was like.

"Perhaps?", I was like.  "That day will come."

We split some designer cheese, and the board came out with this pretty small piece of cheese, but a big nice freshly-baked baguette.

"That's pretty small," she was like, looking at the cheese.

Then, a few minutes later, she commented on how good the olives looked that the people next to us ordered.

"Take them," I was like.  "Those are our olives."

Then, nodding toward the complacent olive-eating (white) women, I was like, "Just look at them, they're people who live off the backs of others, of people like you and me.  Our money bought those olives, so take them, they're ours."

Every once in a while, then, for the rest of the time we had drinks there, whenever waiters brought out something tasty-looking, I'd encourage her just to up and take the food.

When we left and were heading to another bar, I was telling her about how I'd been reading about the Symbionese Liberation Army and how much sense their slogan made, "Death to the fascist insect that preys upon the life of the people!".

"You know," I was like, "It's a little much, but it's kind of true."

"I'm not sure I like the 'fascist' part," she was like.  "It vilifies people too much and descends too easily into violence."

"Then what would you have instead as a slogan?", I was like.

"Oh, something like, 'confiscation of property'," she was like, quite seriously.