Crunch.

“Oh dear.”

“That’s it? ‘Oh dear’? You just stepped on me, lady.”

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you there!”

“Oh, of course you didn’t. Nobody notices ants anymore. Because that’s all I am in this world now, isn’t it? Just a friggin’ ant.”

“Well, you see, I didn’t mean to and—”

“Does it matter? Lady, do you realize that you just put all 200 pounds of you into that one step? And that that one step just happened to land on less than an ounce of ant, when there was about a million other square inches in this friggin’ parkin’ lot you coulda friggin’ stepped on?!?!”

“For your information, I weigh 170 pounds.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Why you liddle—”

“Whaaat? What more can you do? You already stepped on this poor, broken, weak shell of an ant. The world has thrown all it can at me! Look, lady, I gotta family to feed, rotten food to eat, you just had to take it all away, didn’t you?”

“I—”

“Oh, just shut up. And don’t ever step on me again.”