I had killed my wife and now I wanted to murder this customer. When you end the life of someone and get away with it, it gives you a cocky confidence that exclaims, "Don't piss me off." But this guy wasn't getting it. He wanted a double no foam non-fat extra hot vanilla grande latte, which I delivered with a smile.

"This is too sweet. Too much vanilla. I'd like another." He pushed the drink back towards me.

I took a deep breath, staring him down, and started over. The customer may always be right but that doesn't guarantee I won't put you six feet under. Lydia, the cashier, was running out of change because we were having an ATM run of $20 bills. Carlos, the busboy, was nervously checking out a group of teenagers across the street dressed in what I could only call gangbanger clothes. Great, on top of everything else, was I about to be in the middle of gang crossfire?

Next, as I looked down at the sink drain, I saw a brown sludge suddenly gurgling forward, covering the silver metal mesh drain cover as it continued to rise.

I handed Mr. Nasty Latte his drink again, starting on my next drink order. He calmly took a sip and whipped, "It's not that hot."

I stared him down.

"But...it'll do." Damn straight it will do. As he walked away, I did notice his butt. Nice, and it was aching for a spanking.

"Steve..." mumbled Lydia.

I looked over and saw her pointing at the sink. The sludge was rising. I immediately got on the phone, paging my plumber. When I looked up, I saw the busboy was now across the street, talking to his homies. I moved to the front door and whistled but he only leered at me, removed his apron, tossed it across the street, and walked away. Son-of-a-bitch, did he just quit? Did my bus boy just walk out?!

He turned the corner, disappearing down a side street. What the hell was going on!? Rude customers, brown goo vomiting from the plumbing, employees quitting...

And then the questions suddenly arose within me like a warm fever. Was it karma? Was it my just rewards for having committed a crime and seemingly gotten away with it? Was this my penitence, for the rest of my life, a living hell? After all, I had worked so hard to get this business for myself-- to take this business from my wife who I feigned love for-- and now this?

The brown ooze from the drain suddenly looked like blood, moving closer to the rim of the sink rim, about to overflow. Blood? Murderous blood.

I shut my eyes and then glanced at the sink-- the blood had returned to its normal brown color. What was happening? I suddenly felt flushed.

With a line of customers, the sink about to overflow, and dirty dishes collecting on the tables-- I crossed to the bathroom, hearing Lydia's pleas behind me.

"Handle it," I mumbled.

I walked inside the bathroom and shut the door, lowering the toilet lid and sitting down, putting my hands in my face.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to punch.

I wanted to kill. What were these feelings inside me? Consuming me in guilt and filling my heart with rage.

Knocking was heard on the door. "STEVE!" yelled Lydia, "Are you all right?" The way she asked, with a hint of concern in her voice, I was suddenly filled with hope.

I knew that in the coming days I was going to have to either calm down or handle my murderous rage accordingly. I had already killed once, but was it about to become a habit?

I flushed the toilet for appearance and went outside, wiping the sweat from my brow. I looked at Lydia who was struggling with mop buckets behind the counter with the overflowing drain. Customers were leaving the store and the phone kept RINGING and RINGING.

I moved forward. I had to get out of my state of mind. I had to do something before I lost control and hurt someone.