What's Your Problem?- Digital Collage 4" x 6"

Victor Timofeovich is a braggadocious scalliwag and a lousy trumpeter to boot! There! I said it. The only reason he came to practice in the azalia fields today was to irk Peter Feodeovich and myself in retaliation for reporting his malicious spitball salvos in music class today. He resorts to such antics because he is without talent.Peter Fedeovich says he is just insecure. I say he is a brutish gutterwipe.What sort of person snickers at an earnest drummer practicing a march? I turned and though he is taller and stronger I glared at him.
"What's your problem?" he asked.
"Why can't you practice elsewhere, Timofeovich? Can't you see we were here first?"
"Oh, do you own this field now, Twerp?"
I did not know this word "twerp," but I did not like the sound of it.
"Listen, Timofeovich just because you went to Moscow once and learned some reprehensible expressions does not grant you permission to accost the likes of us."
He smirked. "Twerp."
"You leave me no choice." I retorted. "Your trumpeting is atrocious. It is an embarassment to the school." Almost as soon as the words escaped my lips I knew I had overstepped the bounds of decency. He walked over to me and grabbed the red kerchief around my neck. "Take that back, Twerp."
Terrified though I was, I looked him straight in the eye and said, "No. It is true. Everyone in the band knows it."
He shoved me to the ground and turned to Peter Fedeovich and said, "What's your problem?"
Peter Fedeovich looked up at him and asked, "Victor, is this necessary? Can't you just leave us in peace?"
Victor looked down at him. "So, you think my trumpeting is no good too?"
Peter Fedeovich scratched his head trying to summon a polite response."Perhaps if you spent more time practicing and less time bullying your playing might be better."
Timofeovich looked crestfallen if just for an instant. Then, he turned and stormed off.

I can only hope he doesn't hit me tomorrow.