Man-child stands at mirror in bathroom of his mother’s house primping himself to go to work. He speaks out loud to his reflection.
I’ll show her… fuck, I’ll show every last one of those assholes!
He turns and reaches up to adjust a small mirror that hangs from the shower curtain rod, to admire from the back, the tight billiard ball-sized bun in his hair that perches atop the crown of his head.
Fuck yeah! They wouldn’t dare touch me now. I’m a friggin’ sumo, baby!
Man-child smooths his white shirt down his flat abdominals and tucks it into his black dress-pants, inspects the knot in his tie one last time, grins at himself, and leaves for his first day as a floor-walker at Sears.