What I've been getting into is screaming first thing in the morning so that I can release all of my anger prior to facing the day. Quarry laughed at the word hollering coming from Ernie in his public educator tones, just like a junior high teacher. He had Ernie for math in the seventh grade and didn't remember any yelling at all. As a matter of fact, Ernie hadn't done anything but rest quietly behind his desk while Quarry shot spit-balls on the blue walls covered by photos of scientific men. Just frustration I guess.
People seem to be there to absorb it.
Oh no son, I'm talking about something else, I'm talking about being a man who's been stiffed and who's reacting in a less than positive manner, I'm talking about being an animal who has no regard whatsoever for others, only himself, I'm talking about being an abuser to the highest and most deplorable degree. Quarry turned for home, feeling the dew seep through his slippers, listening to Ernie rip it out. Quarry stretched one last time and looked up, ready to go. The faces on the ceiling were indeed there, and in many cases June had gotten it right, he did entertain himself with various faces, but she had also gotten it wrong. Quarry had been there so long and knew the ceiling so well that he could combine the fateful intricacies of its patterns and smoothly summon any visage from its rough boundaries.