Mickey Z
Cool Observer
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Like Tyson in Tokyo
I’m sticking around for Storytelling Saturday.
Once upon a time…
It was a crisp night with a hint of spring in the air as I strolled down the subway steps and up 31st Street to my shortcut home. Quiet night…quiet enough that the barking sounds of a heated male argument could carry for a half-block or more. I reached the combatants and gazed from across a two-way street. Having witnessed (and participated in) a fair amount of road rage events, the origin unfolds easily. A white guy in a delivery van was about to pull out when a black guy and his girl pull up and block him in (those old Lincolns really take up space).
Nothing new…except the black guy is big, tall, maybe 25 and the white guy is short, bald, paunchy, maybe 20 years older than his adversary. Contrary to what one might expect in such a situation, the little old guy is all up in the big young guy’s face. That shows guts…but not much brains.
I turned my head for a second to make sure some livery driver wasn’t about to slam into me when I heard it: flesh and bone hitting flesh and bone. It’s Rocky Balboa uppercutting in the meat freezer…the sound of impact with deadly, lethal intent.
Yo
When I looked back, the white guy is flat on his goddamned back in the street. He looked dead (I’ve seen enough dead bodies in the street to make that assumption). The black guy had that post-one-punch-KO swagger as he re-entered the monstrous Lincoln and backed up. I cringed, anticipating the tires rolling over white guy’s head but the black guy somehow managed to avoid further contact. The white guy wasn’t moving. No one was around…except for three young women in the hair salon just a few feet from where the guy was lying in the gutter.
I crossed to get a closer look…cautiously. I was thinking: This guy could wake and—in a post KO fog—think it was me who floored him and reach for his gun. He was bleeding…still not moving. When I got to about five feet away, he surprised me with a shake of his head. I moved towards the salon and tried the door: locked. It was past closing time and the three gals inside eyed me warily. I was wearing a black jacket and black ski cap. Why would they trust me?
From outside the locked glass door, I pantomimed the situation…but they shrugged me off. I yelled through the glass that the guy was hurt. The woman who appeared to be in charge and made the decision to wave me away. I wish I could have seen my own face. The girls had failed the test. They were nervous but they never even tried…even a jaded soul like mine registered shock.
I ran for help as the white guy stirred a bit more. I failed here, too. I didn’t get closer to check on him…still thinking he could wig out and display some of those guts on the first sucker who approached to help. I watched him stagger to his feet and get into the van…shaking the cobwebs out of his head like Tyson in Tokyo.
He drove off. The salon girls didn’t notice. I went home to tell the wife…admittedly thinking: too bad I missed that punch.
Who has a story for us?
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Speaking of missing a punch, check out this short film about landmines: http://tinyurl.com/5ypgs
More: http://www.stoplandmines.org
(Thanks, Michael)
(As Noam Chomsky sez: “We cannot plead fear as an excuse for silent complicity.")
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Btw, have you noticed the new rings around Uranus?
http://tinyurl.com/al73k
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Self-Promotion Ahead
50 American Revolutions You’re Not Supposed to Know: Reclaiming American Patriotism has been adopted for a sociology course called “American Society” in the Spring 2006 semester at SUNY Cortland College.
(Photo by Sacha Lecca)
Also, a Xmas review of Seven Deadly Spins here:
http://www.gnn.tv/A01992
FYI: Both Saving Private Power and Seven Deadly Spins are also being used to teach college courses. Encouraging, I’d say...with all due modesty.
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And since this is Xmas Eve, I’ll go cute to end things:
http://cuteoverload.com
Copyright © 2005-2007 Mickey Z.
