Like bad breath that lingers in a closed room forever, bad karma, the lack of faith in other people’s goodness, stinking in a cloud around him.
“I had to fire him,” he said defensively, talking to someone he considered a moralist, or at least a person of high morals, “his replacement was so much better than he was, it was a no-brainer.”
“I took him to court and I beat him. I win every time I have to take someone to court– an unblemished winning percentage.”
“I made more money last year than you made in your entire life, and I’m making 40% more this year,” he put his cigar out in the kid’s hand.
The kid, I knew, didn’t need my help. He made no sound when the cigar tip hit his hand, only a quick downward movement and the burning cigar was on the ground. A half second later Mr. Bad Karma had a terrible expression on his face, and the next second he was on the ground, wincing.
“Violence is not the only answer,” I said to the kid, while at the same time, I couldn’t help but admire how quickly he’d resolved the karmic quandary.
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