Y: Er, why did you fling your flowers on the grass like that?
Y: Yes. But if I know anything, it’s that you would have thrown garbage too, just like you threw the flowers.
X: So? How does it matter?
Y: Doesn’t filth bother you? Especially when you are the one creating it?
Here, X spits theatrically. (Y wants to throttle her and do some other things to her, but alas, bound by the rules that will send her to prison if she does those things, refrains. She instead has to turn her attention to the approaching bus, which will make off without her if she doesn’t look sharp and board the thing, along with the 3,123 other prospective passengers.)