She was a violent woman. Her hair told you as much. Also, she wore a bib. Throughout the day things would fall from her mouth and she would scream GOD DAMNED BIB. People’s faces looked puzzled by this. Well why wear the bib then? a puzzled onlooker would quietly ask himself. Lord knows she could find a more flattering thing to drape around herself, another puzzled onlooker would quietly say to herself. Yet she wore the bib.
Her violence was often directed at things, but rarely at other people. She would sigh viciously at a tree stump, do horrible things to a fork, curse a gentleman’s collar. Twice weekly she set out with the sole intention of assaulting things: waste bins, sticks, napkins, celery – just whatever it was she could find. She hated things.
Once a man suggested to her that she please stop assaulting a small bundle of old toys someone had left out on the curb. Stop beating those, he had said. There’s no sense in it. She turned furiously towards the man and spat, sharply, at his face. The spit, not matching the ferocity with which it was spat, fell limply from her mouth and landed on her bib. She reddened noticeably and screamed GOD DAMNED BIB.
Although she was violent she only rarely hurt any other person; just mostly things. For this she was left more or less alone, only suffering the occasional puzzled onlooker with courage enough to make their puzzlement known.