…so I’m sitting in this cafe, slumped over a piss-warm cup of dark roast coffee, casually tossing ashes into the tray at the end of the table. The lighting is inadequate where I’m seated, making it difficult to study the entrees on the menu.
I pick up on a one-sided conversation coming from the booth adjacent to me, involving a pig-headed suit and tie, yammering into a phone about a stock deal gone sour. The woman seated in front of the man appears emotionally detached, which is indicated by her body language. She ignores the man and blankly stares off at a young female clearing the surrounding tables.
I’m overcome with remorse for the woman and her situation, finding myself privately analyzing the dysfunctional correlation between the two. Clearly, she’s numb inside; another wandering soul, financially bound to some corporate meat head.
The murmur throughout the diner adds to the endless chatter taking place in my head, but the humming is abruptly halted when, without warning, an explosive discharge of profanities and pent-up rage erupts out of the woman.
The man immediately stands up and begins violently shouting back, exchanging threats with the fragile aggressor. The conflict quickly escalates, and I find myself growing increasingly discomforted by it. My gut screams of something horrible about to happen, yet I’m unable to flee. I can’t move. I’m stuck.
My instincts are validated when the women reaches into the cleavage of her blouse and draws a concealed pistol from it. My anxiety is now at a rolling boil. Her hands tremble as she extends the cold, steely weapon in front of the man’s face at point-blank range. Her lips quivering, tears streaming down the crevasses of her swollen face.
With her finger firmly pressed against the firing mechanism, she stutters off an impromptu eulogy. From what I can recall, it went something like this:
“You see this? I traded in my wedding band for it. I couldn’t stomach looking at it anymore. It was nothing but a constant reminder of what a cold-hearted pig you are. This…this right here? This is all you do: pretend to be some big-shot with your fancy suits and loud-talk. I’m sick of it. I’m sick and tired of you dragging me around like some kind of a god damn trophy. You don’t respect me. You don’t care about me. Today is the day that it ends, Norman. Today is the day that I make everything right. But before I do, I want you to know this: you’re a lousy, selfish, half-witted creep that ain’t even worth the cost of that napkin dispenser…”
The last thing that came out of her mouth:
“…Eat lead, Chowderhead.”