If I had a gun

A few weeks ago Patrick and I went to the big Sainbury's to do some food shopping, and as we were walking back through Splott along a road with a bit of a traffic jam on it. We were busy chatting away, and as we walked past a pickup truck a little chav leaned out and shouted,
"Ow!" so I looked round. He continued, "Which one's the bitch?" I carried on talking to Patrick and heard him shout back at us, "Fucking queers."
Normally this kind of thing doesn't bother me, and I usually don't even notice - but this time I got really fucking angry and a upset. Who the hell does he think he is? An ugly little chav (he was probably about 17) shouting at me in the street! With his bumfluff moustache, fat pregnant girlfriend at home on benefits, illiteracy, ugliness... hmm, I went all Daily Mail then.
How dare he think that anyone cares about his opinion, he is nothing: a little cowboy builder with no qualifications, social skills, prospects or aspirations. It's very rare that I hate real people (I hate a lot of celebrities, but they don't count) but he really fucked me off. Patrick didn't seem bothered, perhaps because he didn't hear him (bless him, he was listening to me) but partly because he says he wouldn't let a non-entity like that upset him. As the night wore on, I got more and more angry with the little runt. If he'd been walking past Patrick and I on his own, I doubt he would even have looked at us; but because he was in a van with two fat builders he thought it would be funny to shout at two people walking on the street. I know the best way to deal with little cunts like that is to ignore them, which I did, but oh my god... if I had a gun.