i said, i made nothing of it.
he says, you make and make spindles of threads that we all choke on through our navels until we’re hung like christmas ornaments over fireplaces grown cold and blasted with soot.
i said, you’re making nothing out of this.
he says, you’ve made a mess of things, you’ve made a mess in your shorts, you’ve soiled our mouths, you’ve rubbed it in, you’ve rubbed our faces in it, you’re so full of shit.