Maxwell
If she is expecting me to leave, she’s wrong. However, instead of making her even madder, I sit behind her. This cockroach named Dave has not the slightest clue who I am, so when he makes eye contact with my wandering eyes he has no idea I’m thinking of the most efficient way to kill him, because apparently that’s what I have to do.
First thing I would break each one of his groping fingers. Next, I would crush his kneecaps so he couldn’t kick at me even though they would feeble attempts. With his screams shredding my eardrums, I would finish him off due to annoyance. The feel of his neck snapping beneath my fingers solves my problem. Although as he licks his lips while he stares at Charlie, my Charlie, I begin to contemplate ripping his throat out with my teeth just to watch him
