I may have known when his hand slammed fists pound into the stain lathered wooden countertop. His words knives, not carving like thanks to be given, but a rabbit like pounce across the once living beast. The cries of whom could only be heard by the already deceased creators of the human thought to be mindless creation. Its dead eyes stare with powerful emotion. Happiness and anger, whichever was activated as flies were swished away in the broomlike waltz. I might have known that this meal was blessed by the almighty, but he couldnt stop using his name in vain as he pounded his way. His way to get you to do what he wants, his way to work every day, his way to the varnished box to quiet his insecurities. As he threw the kickstand back like the bull rider and rattled off into oblivion i knew, i almost knew. It was only to help people, until he found himself.
