I knew better than to try to stop Rafael—he’d make good the damage later. So I let him take out his anger on my furniture. Better that than on some poor slot who happened to get in his way. His foot lashed out a second time, knocking over an armchair. Again and again he kicked it, until the cushion tore and the stuffing exploded out. At last he subsided and stood, panting, fists clenched.