The guy, who still hasn’t even told me his name, slings an arm over my shoulders and his hand ends up hovering over my chest. I have what can only be described as a full rage blackout. One minute he’s laughing and touching me, and the next he’s howling and clutching his now-broken hand to his chest like it’s a baby bird. I’m much faster than he is, and while he’s flailing, I slap a hand over his mouth, so the librarians don’t assume he’s being murdered and come over here to stop me. He could push me off, but he’s too busy losing his shit over his mangled hand.
