“I can print my statement out for you, if that would help.” He sat back down, eyeing me warily. “Sure.” I printed my statement, happy that all the work I’d put into it wouldn’t go unnoticed. He took it, read my four sentences for a really long time that had me wondering if he was dyslexic, then looked back at me. “Wow, that’s a lot to take in all at once.” “It was for me, too,” I said, the sarcasm dripping from my tongue unmistakable. “You cut his throat?” I leaned toward him, my voice menacing as I said, “I do things like that when I’m angry.” He worked his jaw a moment. “How about I come
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