I have recognised a bad situation. This particular one involves me, a wall and three twice as big as me boys. Charles Bronson tells me to say well I can’t spend all of your lunch money, you can keep half. This is a kick in the nuts. Down but not out. The big number 2 boy spits on his hand, real back of the throat shit, wipes it on my face.
I’m a monster lightning bolt, green muscles, web shot, phasers to kill, back on my feet. I’m the youngest black belt in the country and I’m Bruce Lee on crack. I centre myself, my sensei would be proud, and shoot my fist of steel into the prick’s chest, which does not move. His feet and friends’ feet move. Their fists move. I turn egg, sonic, armadillo.
This is how revenge movies start, sensei.