That one time I was bitter

The Spitfire:

It tasted metallic so I had taken to habitually spitting, thinking no one had noticed while ignoring the looks exchanged between posts: raised eyebrows and solemn shrugs. You asked what it tasted like and I replied, saying,
"the bad part of chocolate,
the remnants of rinds...
straight espresso and anything stale."
You said it sounded bitter.
"Fuck you." I quipped, and then regaining my composure, chuckling, I asked,
"How do you mean?"
"It's every man that never wanted you,
it's every day above 105 degrees,
it's every move you've made where you've misplaced something valuable never to be seen again.
You're becoming bitter.
If you're not careful, you'll look around and you won't see a damn thing anymore."
I tried to explain that it wasn't even an emotion, it was a new state of being: like being underwater all the time--surreal and tight in the chest. Not good, but it was a gray area.
I spit again.
This time with mucus!
This time with feeling!