Wednesday, November 21, 2012

balance

There's a beefy brawler, some kind of pro fighter, encroaching on your wheelchair-bound grandma's property. He's all "I'm taking this, ya mind?" She's like "mmm, yeah?" and he's like "go fuck yahself!" He comes and goes as he pleases and tells her which parts of the house she can use and when. Can I use the bathroom now? Maybe. Sometimes she gathers the courage to spit at him, defiantly, knowing she stands no chance, knowing the payback will make her regret it, physically. Self-respect is worth it. He beats the shit out of her to remind her who's in charge.

The New York Times reports: "Extremist grandma spits on neighbor. Trying to work things out. Tenous situation. No end in sight. A standoff. Peace negotiators on their way. When will the fighting stop?"

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