He stants in front of me. Right there, in my face. Blunt hatred, ranging loathing boils in my bones, muscles, veinds and mind. His red gleaming eyes reflect the fire in mine. Silence burns our nerves as we hold in the air that puffs out our chests. Bare and imperious, the curves of our daggers. The hair on our arms is sharp and erect. Fury breathes from our vapor as we sweat. My nostrils strain to maintain my ferocity. I will not relinquish any of my might, not even my air. We feed history to our fires. Every past incident, every forgotten moment, blazes on our sneering lips. Our cutting eyebrows, honed and greased, pull closer and closer. I can hear the pulse in my veins, on my temples, wrists and ankles. In the still of the moment, the time between each beat is a life.
The first trace of a sweat burns a line from my temple to hang on my chin, and then falls to explode on the concrete. The tension draws us closer, with my forehead now almost touching his. My muscles contract. My cails carve cresecents into my palms as I hold a fist. I pull it back; I turn my body and —
Click. Change the channel.