Are you pissed?

We visited the museum next. Thankfully, there was a museum assistant who was there to tell us about the paintings and sculptures. Mitch didn't have to drone about different histories like he would have done. From the way he kept on glaring at the attendant, you could tell he wasn't happy someone had taken his job. It was funny as hell, but I didn't laugh, not wanting to let him know we could identify how he was feeling.

I bet he had researched everything, and knew the history of hand, ready to tell us all the things he knew and boast about it to his brothers.

I also felt bad for him. Throughout the walk, he looked tensed, not his usual self. Everything I did to cheer him up didn't do much. He kept his face straight, like one whose pet got knocked down by an overspeeding car.

“She doesn't know half of the histories!” He grumbled when we got to the car, turning to shoot a glare at the museum. “Who would have thought they would give us an attendant like this? If only I asked about th