The bearded guy leaned over the kid. The kid was on the ground, spitting blood.

“That will teach ya,” said the man.

“Fuck you,” said the kid, but the words drowned in tears.

The man wanted to kick the kid in the face, but he thought that could land him in jail, so he forced himself to walk out. The cool of the night gave him some comfort, but still his mind was racing all the way home.

When he finally entered the warm bright kitchen and saw his wife cooking dinner, he got angry again.

“The fuck is this? Huh?”

“What, Harry? What is it honey?” the woman switched to hysterical in split second.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

His knuckles landed on her soft cheek, she hugged the cold floor.

“See what you made me do, bitch?” he shouted with a thousand angry voices.

The voices of the bosses he had to obey and the customers who were not satisfied with life. The voices of the guys whose jaws he had to break to get the girl he wanted. The voices of the boys who teased him in the school yard. The voices of men who brought him up, or just fucked his mother. The voice of his father was in there somewhere. The voices of the Civil War, the American Revolution, thousands of armies rushing against one another. The voices of hunters pinned down by tigers. The voices of black-haired ape-like creatures breaking each others’ skulls with pieces of bone. And way, way beyond that.

They all echoed through him. There was nothing he could do about it.

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