Prayer to the Almighty

I want that little prick on the scooter to fall off outside my house. I want to see the tracksuit torn from his miserable, malnourished body and the flesh planed from his bones. He wears his helmet on top of his head, unbuckled to look cool. Well I want to see that cranium broken open, spilling that excuse for a brain down the bus-lane. I can smell the sweet, friction burned skin already.