Mmpf. What do you want from me? Don’t make me get up. I’m huge but very spry. Then once I’m in front of you, you’ll try to get out of it, you’re going to try to change the subject. So you’re going to ask me if I’m all right, and I’m going to tell you that I am, but I was sitting a lot more comfortably before you started staring at me with that provocative look. Then you’ll defend yourself by asking me what could have happened in my life to make me take a simple sidelong glance so badly. Then I’ll explain that with my father, it was no laughing matter. There was no room for discussion. It was usually: « Shut up and here’s your beating ». Oh yeah, I’d say it’s a good way to educate people. Then you’d give me a whole speech about how our childhood doesn’t define who we are now. That we mustn’t let the past corrupt and rule our future. Blah, blah, blah. The shrink I see every week is already telling me that, in fact. And I didn’t come to a f**** bar to get a f**** lecture on trauma psychotherapy. Yes, there are two schools, blah, blah… who cares anyway? And do not answer that you’re interested in that. So there are two solutions. Either I grab your head and smash it like a nut. Or you try to hit me first and you’ll shatter like glass on a concrete floor.