Oh, You City

So, last night I went to meet Johnny and his GF for some drinks. By the time I showed up (10:00pm) they were hammered. Just blasted. They left after about 30 min. and I stayed for a few beers and talked with Jackie, the bartender. I rode my bike home and happened upon a congregation of cops a few blocks from my house. I asked one what was up and she told me that there were shots fired and someone injured. I asked if I could take some pictures and she told me, “Hell, no. This is a crime scene. You should get moving. The shooter is still loose.” I moved about ten feet and watched them investigate for a while and struck up a conversation with another cop. “I’m usually in bed at this hour, so is this a common thing?”

“Oh, yeah. Probably three times a week.”

“Huh.”

He was super nice and some of his “bros” joined in on the conversation. It was pleasant. As I told a friend at the Pride Parade after watching the four wheeler cops stop and talk to people drinking on the street, conversationally and not enforcefully, “Nothing makes me happier than a cool cop. I don’t know why.”

I continued home and grabbed the bitch for a walk. Upon returning, about an hour later, I was accosted by a drunk, trashy, crippled dude. “You got another cigarette?”

“Nope.”

“I bet you do.”

“Well, I do, but not for you.”

“Can I have the one you’re smoking?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Of course I’m not going to give you this cigarette. I’m smoking it, dick.”

“You wanna fight?”

“No. I want to smoke my cigarette, MY cigarette, in peace. Fuck off.”

“Is your dog mean? Will she bite me if I hit you?”

“She’ll bite you if I tell her to. Don’t try me, pal.”

“Oh, are you big stuff?”

“Listen, you’re hammered. Where do you live?”

“None of your business.”

“I’m just asking to see if I could help you home.”

“How could YOU help me?!”

“Alright…go fuck yourself,” and I continued on as he stopped at the intersection. I was a little pissed, but not enough to engage in fisticuffs.

And then he he yelled from half a block away, “Fuck you and your skinny dog! She’s skinny because her owner’s poor!”

For some reason when he brought Emma into it, I lit up. Heart pounding and fists shaking.

I walked back to him and asked, “Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

“Cause you’re a faggot.”

“I’m not, but that wouldn’t have anything to do with it anyway. You’re a completely crippled moron who sounds as if you dropped out of school before you learned basic etiquette. Now my advice to you is to go fuck yourself far, far away.”

He stood there.

“Trust me.”

“And if I don’t?” He drew very close and I knew he was going to swing. So I did it first. Right in the middle of his trashy face. I knocked him out cold in the middle of Marine Drive.

“Oh, shit…,” I thought. I stood in the middle of the street with a curious dog overlooking a body in the street. A body that I made still. Fuck.

I called 911 and told them that there was a man in the middle of the street. Two cops showed up within minutes and…what do you know, it was the ones I had had a conversation with earlier!

“What happened?”

So I told them the story. “Yeah, we know this fella. He lives a few blocks up in that crazy house.” They smacked him around and he came to. “We’ll take it from here. You go on home.”

“Okay.”

I smiled at the dude as he looked around wondering what the fuck happened. I felt like a sunbeam. A potentially violent sunbeam.

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Comments
4 Responses to “Oh, You City”
  1. slurredpress says:

    I’ve always wondered what it’d feel like to punch someone right in the kisser. I’m waiting for my Self Defense Class where I can do it safely and pretend it was an accident.

    I think that makes me a faggot.

  2. The only thing you need to know, Apple, is what Hemingway said, “Hit first and hit hard.”

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