“You’re a dirty douche nozzle with a broken spine,” he yelled into the telephone.
The voice at the other end antagonized him further.
 “Oh fuck you,” he bellowed.
The voice interrupted him and his face reddened.
“You can publish that on recycled toilet paper. You are such a waste of molecules.”
The shriek from the telephone echoed across the room; the other patrons of the coffee shop glared at the man as he paced back and forth along the wall of windows.
“Oh very funny, the air you breath is a wasted commodity,” he said, then thought, “Challenge won.”

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