not while i'm eating

The town's leading advocate of abortion rights, Norm O'Brolchain passed my table seeking lebensraum for his morning coffee.
His handlebar moustache glinted morally in the half light of the cafe.
(It's not a handlebar. It's a Magnum. - Ed note)
I kept my eyes down and he didn't greet me.
Usually his manners are impeccable.
As for my own manners, since the legalistion of the murder of unborn children in Ireland, I am indeed finding it difficult to remain civil towards the Nazis.
Next Hermione Vortle entered the cafe.
She walked over to me.
"Can I talk to you?" she said.
I left her twisting there in the wind for a bit.
"Can I talk to you?" she said again.
I still hadn't looked up.
Now I answered with that discrete diplomacy which has made me what I am.
"Go away," I said. "Leave me alone."
She evaporated.
When she had gone I caught O'Brolchain's eye. He had posited himself at an adjoining table.
His face remained in neutral, politely expressionless but there was a definite trace of bemusement flickering from somewhere in his immortal soul and escaping past the moustache.
"Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump taught me," I told him by way of explanation, "that I prefer an abortionist to a devil worshipper every time."