I was furious. Oh so easily I could have hit you, stomped on your eyes. I'd have enjoyed setting your house on fire, or filling your swimming pool with acid. I could have called your wife and pretended to be your mistress, and then broken your son's heart. Selling your business' secrets would have been a joy, setting you up to take the fall for fraud would have been so easy. Laughing, I'd've keyed your car, and slashed your tires, lit some of your disgusting, noxious cigarettes and then put them out on your fancy leather seats. I could tell the police that you knocked me around and show them the bruise I got from falling off the stepladder as proof. I could have stolen some of your underwear and then hung them from the flagpole outside your office. I'd sell your antique motorcycle on the internet. Being so much smarter than you, it would have been easy, like a logic puzzle just below your level. I would have loved it. Highlight of my year, easily.
But instead I sat back with my Bible and thought to myself, "Karma sucks."
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