An irrational anger sits beneath the human shell. The monkey screams and rattles at a cage it alone can see. And I, the higher bit of my being, cannot see what the monkey sees. I see only my reactions, irrational as they appear to me. The traffic vexes, the coins fall from pockets, the computer is too slow, the window bounces to the fore when I wish it to be behind, the patron comes to the door then stands within the threshold neither exiting or reentering but barring entry nonetheless to all who might wish to enter.

What is it the monkey is reacting to? It is hardly ever the things the humans sees in its behavior. Something else lies where the monkey dwells. In time it will be revealed. It always is. I hope only that the human finds it before the monkey starts tossing poo at the other monkeys.