Both men roared, not in the way that human beings do at all. They roaring in the way that large, violent, wild animals do and the roar tore the air in the suburban milk bar apart.
“You will pay for that!” the shop-keeper thundered, his rage bouncing around the walls and cascading over the mixed lollies and soft-drink cans.
“You can shut your stupid mouth and go to hell!” stormed back the step-father.
All the while, the children stood fixed to the spot. The words themselves where ordinary, but the intense venom, the raw anger, left them unable to react.
“I’ll call the police,” the swarthy shop-keeper threatened, raising himself up to maximum height and volume.
“Go right ahead, you little prick. It’s you who’ll go to jail!”
“Right, I will then!”
The step father bustled the children past the fallen and spilled orange-juice containers, past the small but sodden pile of newspaper, and out into the street. The shop-keeper continued to road, the sound protruding into the street.
As they drove away, the step-father swore violently under his breath. The children, utterly foreign to such outbursts of anger and aggression, sat in the back seat. All the way home, they didn’t say a word.