Peter refreshes the page. And again the image of Tyson's face appears. The stupid fucking grin stares out, taunting him after all these years.
He screams at the screen, unable to contain his fury. How the fuck can Tyson be promoting a course of 'love and compassion' after all those years of being Peter's bully, of punching him when he didn't hand over his lunch money, when Peter looked at him wrong, or just at all.
Peter reckons half of his problems result from Tyson. And now that motherfucker was going around with a shaved head and beads around his neck, claiming to be a monk and capable of saving humanity.
Fuck that, Peter screams. He watches the spit fly from his mouth and land on the laptop screen, the little bubbles refracting the light.
Grace enters the darkened room, her hair coiled like Medusa's.
"I thought you were being murdered," she says calmly with a hand on his shoulder. She knows how angry he is about his childhood, and especially this Tyson guy.
She feels disconnected from him as the rage swirls like a storm. Letting him ride the waves of fury is all she can do to hang on to this fledgling relationship.
"Honey," she says. She wants to say, alright, let's go to his talk, but just sit there, quiet and let him see the errors of his past and let him apologise to you. But she knows him, can see how taken by his feelings he is, and knows he'll not be able to resist storming up to him and punch him in the face.
She's also seen a few of Tyson's videos and knows he'll take the punches with that serene look on his face. Peter will get arrested, and Tyson's popularity will skyrocket.
"Honey," she says again. "Let's get drunk."