Productive Resentment

A skinny girl in black jeans and a tight white blouse, which made her slender waist stand out to advantage, looked at them with obvious contempt. “You’re picking these again—cripples, wronged by life?” she snapped at the guy, while also throwing Glaša such a humiliating glance that she flared up with resentment. “Doesn’t it get boring for you?”

For the first time in her life, Glaša felt a fierce, almost uncontrollable urge to drive that upstart’s fist into her eyes. And what—she could, after all…