It's watching me with its blank stare.
"HALLO, PYTHAGORAS, ARE YOU ANGRY TODAY?" It blurts out, as if not thinking but acting upon monotonous instinct.
"The question is not 'am I angry'" I begin, "but rather: 'am I not angry' for anger is a quotient measure of equilibrium symmetry, a balanced tether of satisfaction and discontent.” I conclude.
"HALLO, PYTHAGORAS, ARE YOU ANGRY TODAY?"
It watches. Eyes staring like the chill vacancy of a painted ghost.
"HALLO, PYTHAGORAS, ARE YOU ANGRY TODAY?"
I am angry.