Not caring that his raised voice and quick gestures have stilled knives and forks across the room, Abraham glares up at the goyishe man whose stupidity and poor spacial awareness has derailed his supper. He shakes droplets of soup from his fingertips, scowling as he's remonstrated in turn. He picks up a few of the English words, the awkward inflection and narrow look in the man's green eyes giving conflicting signals that only inflame his confusion and deepen his anger.

« You spilled my soup, idiot! » He reaches out and tents his fingers against the man's fine clothes, pushing at him. « Why don't you look where you're going? Is there something wrong with you? »