Anger

My brother, the landlord and I tidied up the pub at closing time. The landlord turned the 'open' sign round, and the three of us sat down to enjoy our pints and a fag. The landlady's daughter turned up with my brother's partner and a friend to join us.
The friend tried to discuss music with me. Fine. He had a go at me when I said I hated pop music, and that I cannot have an opinion without hearing something first. I said 'that's fine then. I have no opinion because I won't listen to it. In fact it doesn't even deserve my opinion'. He then told me that he listens to everything that is recommended to him. I recommended that he listen to Elizabeth-Claude Jacquet de la Guerre's 'Pieces de Clavecin' (1687). Needless to say he did not heed my recommendation. He had dug himself into a hole. I don't like being lectured by precious, arrogant little wankers who don't know what they are talking about.
He annoyed me further by feeling the need to point out that he was gay in practically every other sentence. So fucking what? I'm afraid he got quite a tongue-lashing from me. If he wants to wear a badge and live in a ghetto, that's fine by me. I just want to be myself, wherever I go. If he hadn't already annoyed me, I'd have probably taken no notice.
The Aspergers started kicking in. I could feel myself on the point of exploding with rage, so I downed my cider and went straight home before I blew up. I sat up for a couple of hours to try and calm myself down.
I still feel prickly this morning, but I'll be fine once I start playing.