Escorted out the courthouse doors by his bulging mom or older sister, the Shrinking Violent feels the rage rise with the wind. His head's still itching where they shaved it, and his neck displays the purple bruises where they held him down. Not for nothing this revenge.
His mom or older sister barely squeezes in her pants, decorated on the back with the puzzling slogan Apple Bottom. He scans the street to see who might be witnessing his leave. She puts an arm around his neck. He shrugs it off. He may be only twelve but he ain't no fuckin' kid.
He caught my eye and made a note of it. That one looked at me. I know he was not ashamed. Just bad luck. When he grows up, tomorrow won't be soon enough to lose this cow who's leading him now into her sporty Dodge.
Violent hunches in the passenger seat. Now he can't be seen. He has taken all his senseless acts and wrapped them in a ball of fire. Next time that fire's gonna burn red hot.