That bastard is a snivelling runt.
My stooges have been spiking
his food for a fortnight. He suspects
nothing. I’m here for bashing
an old biddy. She had it coming.
Ten years. So I need some recreation.
There is no especial reason I hate
the bastard. Maybe it’s because
he stinks of privilege. They make me
want to vomit. My rage builds up.
Until I need to lash out. I shall
have his son’s head.