Your reply made my meth head of rainbow-sloshing unicorn jump with joyful rage.
I put the glass of milk down and stay still, brushing off crumbs from a cupcake (like those introduced by cinema-inspired depression.)
"Yep, that's good stuff."
But in my head, thought clouds have come up. I've just cut the last remaining patch of green earth in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It was the last parcel of livable life. I cut it and set it on fire. Meh, it was still a better thing to do, well, the only better thing to do. I'd rather do that in mind than think of hurting you.
I'd just let the violence be muffled even in my thoughts. In my mind, the police nor my moral compass are the deterrents. Rather, it is the mere idea of faintly, suggestively losing you.
Oh, a brownie and a half glass of calcium-y goodness. I better finish this while I retort to nicer thoughts in my head.
Thought cloud resurfaces.
"This would make a good scene in a script. Only, more violence and coordinated chaos are needed to give things a kick." I brush off the cupcake crumbs again.