There’s an element of street fighting that I enjoy far more than the violence itself. In spite of the violence, I should say. The violence is just a necessary part of the fun. A prelude, really. What I really enjoy is the obstreperous voyeurism of a drunken crowd. The more wild, the more uncontrollable, the closer to actual rioting, the better. And so right now, a block from the bar at just past two in the morning, with no one but drunk me and the two mostly sober dudes that have followed me outside (each calling out insults, the big one hurling them at me with remarkable viciousness and the smaller one lobbing his almost carefully as if he’s testing them, studying them for their effectiveness – You’re a little bitch. You’re a scared little bitch. Are you a scared little bitch?), I’m inclined to keep walking. Also it’s cold and I don’t have a hat or gloves but only just a thin jacket.
And then a cop rolls slowly by, stops, pops it in reverse, and gets alongside us and turns on his cherries with a whoop whoop of the siren. Two cops in the car, not just one. Huh. Two cops looking at us. Four eyes trained to analyze why two young guys might be following so closely behind one young guy a block from a bar at 2am. Two cops, four eyes, one dash cam, two body cams, 30 million visitors to Youtube every day. That’ll work.
I turn quickly to the two guys behind me. They’re both walking forward but looking slightly sideways at the cops. I rush at them low and pop up with a shout, their heads whipping around to me, eyes big with surprise and at least a small amount of fear, before I catch them both by the throats and squeeze and then bring my hands together to bounce their heads off of one another’s. The small one I hold onto and throw him at the cop car; the big one I sweep from his feet and throw him down on the concrete sidewalk, head first, as viciously as he threw his words just a minute earlier. I hear the cop car door open and I turn toward the officer who’s coming out with gun drawn and I run backwards a bit with both of my arms locked straight out, my hands fashioned into guns, my index fingers pointed out and thumbs cocked back and rapidly firing at the cop and now his partner while I yell out pew pew pew. Their faces!
I turn back around and run full speed one block, two, three, four blocks, jump up onto a bus stop bench and give a roar and a laugh and then jump down and run another block and turn south into the park. There’s a Waffle House on Lindbergh that’s usually packed with college kids after the bars close. I know I can have some fun there.