ABSTRACT
Sometimes Harley got really angry, supermad he called it. He would say words he did not dare write, because if someone big or supernatural saw them, they might think he was breaking the commandment tablets of stone, which were heavier to carry than his Big Chief tablet. The side of the garage, which was leaning precariously, was so dented from cuss-rocks that it looked like two million helmeted bees had flown a suicide mission into it. "Damn it," Harley would exclaim each time he hurled another stone.
