Sublime

angry.

Though Nice Guys frequently deny ever getting angry, a lifetime of frustration and resentment creates a pressure cooker of repressed rage deep inside these men. This rage tends to erupt at some of the most unexpected and seemingly inappropriate times.

“Out you go, Peter.” If looks could kill, I’d be dead now. Peter glares up at me—back rounded and one front paw lifted—while his tiny body shakes. Some people might think he’s cold, but I know better. That’s his small-man rage.

“Filthy soil-tampering motherfucker,” Beckett fumes.

idiot!”