Har! Cop that, you mad little Millennial bastard! But he isn"t going to cop it. In fact – Jesus Christ! – he"s overtaking me, almost forcing oncoming traffic off the road, then cutting in so abruptly I have to brake to avoid a collision. He slows to a crawl and his arm comes out the window and jabs across the roof towards the grass verge on our left. He wants to fight. These are the moments when lives change. When warnings of catastrophe – of injury, death, prison, anguish, grief, penury – should pound like drums in our brains. When, according to experts, we should "remember our common humanity" and exercise forgiveness, or take deep calming breaths, or play soothing music, or speak to ourselves in "friendly, reassuring" tones. But, let"s face it, real anger drops its pants and moons such conventional wisdom. Depending on our personal reserves of the stuff, it can blind us to everything but the need to deal with whoever has wronged us so badly. Even w...
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