I killed the bee for no reason except that it was there and you were watching, disapproving, which made what I would do much worse but I was angry with you anyway and so I put my foot on it, leaned on it, tested how much I'd need to make that resilient, resisting cartridge give way and crack! abruptly, shockingly it did give way and you turned sharply and sharply now I felt myself balanced in your eyes—why should I feel myself so balanced always in your eyes; isn't just this half the reason for my rage, these tendencies of yours, susceptibilities of mine?— and "Why?" your eyes said, "Why?" and even as mine sent back my answer, "None of your affair," I knew that I was being once again, twice now, weighed, and this time anyway found wanting. C.K. Williams