It was again that you had been picking up broken shards of glass, fingers cut by the sharp edges as you kneel on the floor in your white clothing.

You were holding a plate, and John came home extremely upset. Not knowing what to do with his anger he took it out on you, in which he punched you.

Now John was outside on the porch, smoking one of those damned Marlboros that you swore would get to him one day.