The guy looks ready to either cry or explode. “Trying to tell me how to raise my boy? My own kin? What, you the supervision police?”

“No. but—”

“But what? You got kids?”

“No, I don’t. I—”

“Oh, there you go with this ‘I’ bullshit. If you don’t got no kids, then how the fuck you gonna tell me how to raise mine?”

“Not trying to tell you anything. I just don’t believe—”

“Don’t believe in what? God? Satan? Freedom? Well, guess what. I don’t fucking care what you believe, motherfucker!”

Anyone can see that Itch is getting tense. Balling his hands into fists. Hunter feels it. Recognizes it. It’s pulsing through him as well.

“What’s your boyfriend’s problem? Why’s he making fists? You want some of this, you bristly-headed son of a bitch?”

Everyone has a breaking point, and in Hunter’s estimation, Itch is right about there. Hunter feels it too. Violence is coursing through them. Through their veins, organs, bones, connective tissue. Hunter feels as if he had just stepped into a real-life version of some cheesy horror flick. He’s just waiting for a chainsaw or a meat clever to come from somewhere.

“Look, I wasn’t trying to offend you. Just concerned for Cory’s safety.”

“What do you think? You waltz into someone’s home, look at how they live. Critique them. Then run the fuck away? I don’t fucking think so!”

Feet stomp across the floor. The man comes raging toward Hunter, gun raised. Pushes the muzzle against his temple, turning his head to the side. “Real tough guy, huh, until someone puts a gun in your face. What? What you gonna do now, Mr. Tough Guy? Huh?”

Seeing the gun, homing in on the situation, Hunter is reminded of his father, teaching him about fear and weakness. Hank had been selling a home security system to what seemed a hardworking middle-income couple, when something was said that offended the husband, who in turn got mouthy with his wife. Derogatory. Hank stepped in to defend the woman. Calm the husband, who then felt inferior. Went to the bedroom and came back waving a pistol at Hank, who didn’t waver. Didn’t back down. As he told Hunter, “You stand up to weakness.” It was why the guy pulled the pistol on him: he knew he was in the wrong, thought he could intimidate Hank. But he didn’t.

Recalling that now, Hunter tells the father, “Never said I was a tough guy. I told you, was just making sure Cory wasn’t alone. Didn’t know his situation.”

Anger continues to seep into every fiber of Hunter’s being. People have choices. Sometimes, they don’t mesh with morals, with what we view as right or wrong. Having a pistol pointed and poked into your face—there is nothing right about that.