Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

“You put any money out and I’ll shove it down your throat,” he warns, his voice deepening dangerously. My eyes snap to him, round with shock. “Jesus, if you want to be a gentleman, just say that. Weirdo.”

It would be a form of justice if he slipped and hit his head on a rock. Natural selection, bitch.

I’ve never been good at confrontation. Throwing up the peace sign and moonwalking out of the vicinity is my go-to response.