(Original photo stolen from this site)
"Do NOT learn the wrong lesson from this, Son," the man flatly warned, adjusting his work boot on Justin's neck to drive home his point. "It'd be real easy for you to dismiss me as just another asshole, and you'd be part right." Justin didn't move, didn't dare breathe, but he was silently listing the words he would paint on this Neanderthal's truck later, or maybe he should kill the man's dog, or --
"But if you crawl out of here thinking I mistreated you, you'll come back later and mouth off to another, less reasonable asshole," he continued. Blood-tears-snot coalesced on Justin's thick upper lip. He blinked and it hurt. "I did you a favor; I saved you from the next asshole. I may not have a six-figure education, but I understood what you said. Next time you say that in a working man's bar, you won't be saying much more."
The boot lifted from Justin's throat but the eyes pinned the young man to the floor. From the patch pocket under a cursive JERRY a cell phone rang. The man forced two thick fingers into the thin pocket and gingerly plucked out the ringing phone. "Yeah," he mumbled, turning away.
Justin exhaled. Yeah, he'd kill the fucking dog, all right.