He is straight ahead, straight out, straight and hard, and ready to fight.Hope you're better than your brother, someone calls.It hurts me. Wounds me.I am.But not as much as that.
I notice a deliberate change in my brother. He's harder. He has a switch, and once a fight comes near, he flicks it and he is no longer my brother Rube. He's a machine.
As weeks edge past us, he fights and wins and he doesn't bother shaving. He turns up and wins. Turns up and wins. He only smiles when *I* fight well.