Her bun tilts at an awkward angle from the force of her head whip. She massages her wrist as Walt drags her to HR. My eyes fasten on the way she cradles her arm. Is she injured? A flash of regret strikes me, but I get rid of it fast. If she was in pain, she could have spoken up like a mature adult rather than scream and snap like a lunatic. I have no time for tirades and that woman seems to be full of them. What do you know about working hard? The ignorant ones are always the loudest. I guarantee I’ve sacrificed more in my life than she could ever know. She’s welcome to keep her narrow-minded
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