Sour

It wasn’t that he slurred his words, but that he was never taught the proper order— and the whole world suffered for it. A hard man by necessity, you’d be forgiven for believing he chewed on marbles and spit out sculptures. Such was the gravel mess of his speech.

Often the last rites were delivered to a state of confusion. But no amount of broken words could mask the menace that poured off him like river water.

A brute of a man— he wielded subtlety as well as a pig holding a hammer. He didn’t have the means.

The type of man you’d like to call a “sour cunt” but prefer to retain your teeth. Figure he can be mean if you can still chew your dinner. Revenge is overrated. Call me a mirror and I’ll show you a mirror.