Wiping the counters with fury, there was never any mistaking that you were late or you were in trouble or you were something very much other than she expected. In counter clockwise motion as if to erase time; as if to erase your arrival. Elbow braced on the left in a one armed pushup as if to say “I could kick your ass.”
This Geiger counter gives him away every single time. The closer to the truth we get, the faster the clicks; one lid against the other forsaking his secrets.
Neatly and as if folded against a board she stiffens and collapses one rib beneath the next singularly, methodically as if folding a starched shirt to fit a box. She folds one shoulder toward her center then the next until she is one third the size she was when he started to talk. And with his final blow the catchlights disappear from her eyes as if someone finally put the lid on.
Using some ancient voodoo he conjures up a storm with the change in his pocket. First, a jingle. Then a clatter. Finally a fury of noise to match his discontent.