He stood at the end of the trailer’s living room, yelling, cussing, throwing things, like he always did when he was angry.
She, of course, was in the hall by the washer, crying, her face speckled. red streaks, tears dripping onto her shirt.
“I’m so sick of your bitchin, woman!” he shouted from the doorway, ready to run out, after he had yelled his final insult, stomped and delivered his final accusation.
“Just step over the line and see what happens.” he yelled as he went for the door. As the line was crossed, he stared in silence.