2 a.m., bar just closed. I was walking her to her car. We were deciding where to go eat.
That's when I heard voices escalate in an angry tone. I looked ahead and Brandon was faced up with a white guy, spiked blonde hair, a breath separating them.
I quickly stepped between them and pushed Brandon back.
"Stay out of this," the white guy said to me, and he put a hand on my chest. Instinctively, I drove my body weight into him to push him off.
He quickly started to recoil as if to charge at me, but I stepped back in a defensive stance, extending an arm as if to say, Wait. "Step the fuck off," I demanded.
He stopped, lowered in a kind of linebacker stance.
"I don't know what happened here. I don't know what was said. Frankly, I don't care. What I do know is that that's my boy. And I don't know you.
"Now, that being said, I am a grown ass fuckin' man. I don't got time to play. I don't squab no more, I don't scuffle no more, I don't rassle no more. I won't throw punches. I won't throw kicks. If you buck to me, I'm just gonna slit your fucking throat. Do you get what I'm saying to you?
"I'm gonna protect me and mine."
About Me
- Lucky
- Texas, United States
- I am a believer that the purpose of life is progress. And as great were the lives and histories of our forefathers, it is our purpose to rewrite the books with nothing short of spectacular.
Before my time is done, reality will be closer to our imaginations, buildings will reach closer to the heavens, and I will out-drink an old man in a barroom, and I will tell a story funnier, wilder, and more far-fetched than his.
Because who wants to be good when they can be great? And who wants to be great when they can be exceptional? What is it to be loved or hated, admired or feared, if in the end, we are forgotten?
I am a feather pretending to be a wing.
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