I don’t remember what I said – but I remember what he said.
“What do you think of his approach? I thought it was pretty bad.”
Her glance slashes over; we’re a sentence in.
“I thought it was fine…”
I shrug. That little man – what does he think? Does he imagine that belittling others endears himself? That she’d appreciate the off-hand put-down? That I’d be flustered or flummoxed? I wonder, because I – I am aware only of his weakness. His impotence. His inability to start a conversation with nothing but a cheap shot.