(Continued)

"C'mon," he spat, turned for the door behind them, "I hand out the money, I say when you stop. So stop."

"You get so defensive and you're never gonna go anywhere."

He stopped with his hand around the knob. A moment's reflection made him regret the words that exploded from his mouth without a contemplation. He and that feeling were well acquainted; and once again, deep down in his guts, he wished he could manage more than the wry response he knew was on the rise.

"Confidence, John."

People were dumb. Women, especially. Every one of them a sucker that he spurned the existence of. The four syllables didn't hit any sort of shield that they all so pretentiously knew was surrounding his body. Each of them bit into the flesh behind the base of his neck, set to coppulate in his spine. If he were smart, he'd know what to do when someone offered gentler words like hers. Instead, they pulsed through his nervous system and turned his body into a conduit for secret hate.

"If I had the money, I'd buy that, too."

(To be continued. . .)

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