I’m ready when the kid lunges for my throat.
It’s kind of sad, really, the way he does it. It’s like watching a starving person make a dive for a table of mostly consumed food before the waiter can throw it out. It’s a move filled with rage and fear and desperation and a part of me thinks it might be better if I allow him to succeed.Instead, I side-step his advance and sweep my foot under his ankle, his head missing the corner of my coffee table by barely an inch.
I stand in place and watch his shoulders and upper back shake violently as the kid sobs and moans on the floor.
“I just want it to be over!” he yells.
I shrug. “Me too, kid.”
Thoughts? Opinions? Insults?