Anyway, as I turned from the stall and back to the street, Icollided with someone who'd been coming down the sidewalk. Igrunted with the impact and bounced off the unfortunate soul,catching myself before I could stumble and murmuring, "I'msorry, please excuse me," in my politest Japanese."Filthy gaijun scum!" snapped the other half of the accident as Iturned to face him. "Why don't you watch where you're going!"As if the racial insult and the supercilious tone in which hespat it out weren't enough of a clue, the clothes and the bearingimmediately told me the story -- one I had grown up with, andthus was intimately familiar with. From the toes of his gleamingItalian leather shoes to the stylish frames of his designerglasses and the immaculately coiffed hair, he was a perfectexample of Brattus Cashus Toomuchus -- the Spoiled Rich Kid.I had no patience for the species, as I'd grown up around them(and had *been* one of them) for a lot longer than I'd like toadmit. This one was a classic example, and to top it off he wasin a royal snit, too, as he was apparently the "King of the Road"variety. You know the kind: "Part before me, ye peasants, for Iam more important than thee and the avenue of travel is mine ownpossession!" A real smarmy git, too.I resisted the urge to belt him. Not only would it have beenvery antisocial, and it would have undoubtedly earned me someofficial attention I'd much rather avoid. Let's not evenconsider the fact that he was just a crunchy. Unless I took careto pull my punch -- which honestly wasn't something he made mefeel like doing -- I could kill or at the very least seriouslyinjure him.So rather than hurt him, I did the next best thing. I bowed solow it was almost a kowtow, tugged my forelock (well, what wouldhave been my forelock had my hair been long enough), and said inthe most obsequious mode Japanese possesses, "Forgive this one, omighty lord, for his grievous transgression, and pray withholdthe righteous might of thy blade." Of course I said it with asaudible a sneer as I could pour into the words. Then I lifted myhead enough to look up at him through the hair hanging over myeyes and gave him a taunting grin.Smarmy-dono snarled, took a step toward me, then thought better of it as I straightened back up. I had at least five centimeters on him, and my jeans and T-shirt did nothing to hide my physique. I'm not bulky or muscular, but I'm fit in a way that Maggie (and Kat, and Diana, and Alison) admiringly call "hardbody". I also massed at least ten or fifteen kilos more than him, too, so the effect was heightened. Seeing that, he just sneered back and brushed past me, coming as close as he possibly could to walking into me and still not touch me.I turned and watched him as he continued down the street. Hisbody language broadcast the fact that he was seething all the wayto the incredibly cliche late-model red sportscar -- convertible,of course -- parked about 50 meters away. With exaggerated carehe unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. Once he had theengine started, he gunned it unmercifully and peeled out of theparking space. I rolled my eyes.Behind me, the gold dealer chortled. "That one's parents should have spanked him a time or two before he got out of high school," the old man declared with a chuckle. I shared a wry grin with him for a moment, then bowed respectfully and continued on my way. I still had a couple hours before lunch, and wanted to see more of the neighborhood.-- Bob
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Chaos isn't really chaos if it isn't Lawful part of the time.
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Chaos isn't really chaos if it isn't Lawful part of the time.