There was a throbbing, pulsing ache in Ashley Maddox's head. It pulsated in time with every syllable streaming out of Tommy Salinger's mouth, each calculated, piercing insult he hurled at the young couple another pin in Ashley's forehead.
"Reserved parking," Salinger spat. "Can't you damn well read? I swear to god, if I have to run this through my insurance, I'm going to strip you for all you're worth."
"Look pal," the man in front of him said carefully, "I already told you, it was just a nick. You know, most folks would probably just drive off. I'm trying to do the right thing here."
"Don't patronize me. You yuppie twenty-somethings are all the same. Heads down in your iphones, so fucking entitled you think the world owes you a pat on the back for having the good grace to get yourself born."
"Reserved parking," Salinger spat. "Can't you damn well read? I swear to god, if I have to run this through my insurance, I'm going to strip you for all you're worth."
"Look pal," the man in front of him said carefully, "I already told you, it was just a nick. You know, most folks would probably just drive off. I'm trying to do the right thing here."
"Don't patronize me. You yuppie twenty-somethings are all the same. Heads down in your iphones, so fucking entitled you think the world owes you a pat on the back for having the good grace to get yourself born."