Laudator Temporis Acti

Eugene Thacker, in Wounds of Wounds: An Ovation to Emil Cioran (Bucharest: Mount Abraxas, 2017), pp. 12-13:

A Bad Mood. Once I had the luxury of being able to walk to work. But the luxury quickly became a burden, depending on who I encountered along the way. There is someone walking in front of me, chain-smoking, and the wind is, of course, blowing back in my direction. There is someone out walking their miniature, shivering, and completely untrained dog-rat, who wanders out directly in front of me on their expensive leather leash, leaving a raisin-sized turd behind. There is someone who is walking — no, skipping — while listening to their headphones, singing aloud for everyone else to hear — completely out of tune and off-key (but no one can keep them down because they're really feeling the music). There is someone (either naive or just out of college) who is going to try to get my signature for whatever futile cause they say they're supporting, even though they're simply doing it to put it on their C.V. when they apply to law school. There is someone returning from the gym, aggressively pushing a huge, military-issue, two-lane stroller with formless, whining protoplasm buried inside. There are overweight people who won't move out of the way (this has to be intentional). There are roving groups of jittery, insecure teens talking ten times louder than humanly required. There are clusters of the inertial, self-aware self-employed, grazing all day long at the cafe, leaving open not a single chair, all of them droopily tethered to their laptops ("working"). There is someone. There is always someone. How is it possible to feel nothing but unmitigated spite for so many different kinds of people?

Yes, and there is someone who uses the plural pronouns "they" and "their" when the antecedent is singular.