Two skinny white guys started to harass Mick.  Mick was really stoned on methadone and valium.  The two guys were posers, messing with each other, pretending to be tough guys, slap fighting, but not really slapping each other.  It made mick laugh, and they turned on him like hyenas, sensing the weakness.

"What's so funny?  What's so fuckin' funny?" they bellowed.  I heard this over my shoulder.

Dutifully, I clomped back into the bar.  Clear eyed.  With purpose. 

"I just think its funny."  Mick said.

"WHAT'S SO FUCKIN' FUNNY!?"  the lead hyena asked incredulously, with moxy.

I stepped up to him.  They both saw me and swallowed hard.  The lead hyena turned.

"I was just askin' him what was so funny about two guys about two guys fightin'." he bleated.

I looked him in the eye, then I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I just want you to leave my friend alone." I said.

He grabbed my hand and shook it.  "Its all good, y'all."

We turned and walked out of the bar.  Behind us, the guys thumped their chests.

"WE STOOD UP TO THOSE GUYS!"  the one shouted.

"FUCK YEAH WE DID!"the lead hyena chortled.

I laughed heartily and went to the car.

Later on in the weekend I was confronted again.  I had been in the hospital all day getting prodded with needles and given infusions in the routine of health.  Not in the best of moods, I agreed to meet Audrey at our regular dive.

It was packed.  Fortuituously a black vinyl booth opened up in front of me.  So I sat down.

A group of people walked over and sat down with me.

"NOPE.  SORRY.  BYE." one guy said rudely. "THESE WERE SAVED FOR US."

So...this is gradeschool suddenly.

I gave him a look that told him exactly how full of shit I thought he was.

A woman sitting down with him backed his point.

"These are our seats." she said.

Not wanting to deal with the bullshit of the mindless I got up, and moved to sit at the bar, when the local psycho bitch stepped into my path.

"THESE ARE OUR SEATS." she said.

Again, I gave her a look that said exactly what I thought, if not felt.  And stepped around her.

She grabbed my arm by the crook and pulled on it, not strong enough to spin me around, but enough to get my attention.

Now, here I would like to make a point:  I don't care if you're the lead saleswoman at the office, and everyone calls you 'bitch' behind your back because you are 'so damn tough', okay?  I don't know what sort of illusions you keep, nor do I care.  I don't care about your net worth, or who's cock you suck.  Just be damn sure you can physically dominate a person in an expedient fashion if you lay your fucking hands them in a hostile manner.  Because you're trusting genial good nature at that point, and relying on mercy otherwise.  Don't overplay your hand and expect every tom, dick, and harry to follow the social norms behind which you conveniently hide.  And for God's sake, don't get your boyfriend into a fight because you think he's so tough.  In the end, you only have your own credibility to ride and crazy fucks abound.

To put it another way, a person steps into another arena at that point, and they have to be very, very careful what they do.  The cops can't come quick enough to stop me from giving someone a concussion or punching their old assed boyfriend in his throat until he spits up blood and peices of larynyx. 

I woulda' worked out on that old motherfucker.  He knew it, too.  Asshole wouldn't even look me in the eye. 

I looked at my arm, then at her.  She released quickly, and turned to her table.

"OOH!  HE LOOKED AT HIS ARM!"  she shouted, like this really pissed her off.

She grabbed my tricep to get my attention.

"THOSE ARE OUR SEATS!" she said.

"Leave me alone." I countered.

"THEY WERE SAVED FOR US!" she shouted.

"PLEASE leave me alone." I said.

"THOSE ARE OUR SEATS."

"Please leave me alone."  I said again.  The guy at the table wouldn't look at me.

"THOSE ARE OUR SEATS.  THEY WERE SAVED FOR US." she shouted.

"Please leave me alone." I said calmly.  She wanted to fight.  I felt like she was going to hit me with her mammoth bag or attempt to claw my face.  Thankfully, I'm much quicker than a forty year old woman.

"THEY WERE SAVED FOR US.  THEY ARE OUR SEATS." she tried.

"Please leave me alone." I said repetitively.  The bar had stopped chattering.  A small crowd had gathered.  The bartender stood nearby.

"YOU CAN'T- UGH!  THOSE ARE OUR SEATS!" she shouted yet again.

"Please leave me alone." I said.  Now everyone was paying attention.

"Leave him alone," a woman said from her table behind her.

"Just leave him alone." the bartender said quietly.

"OK.  SHAKE MY HAND?!" she shouted, offering her hand, as if I was to kiss it.

Sorry, hun, the genteel illusion was blown after the first drunken bellowing.  Its hard to conjur images of romanticisim when you rant at me like a lunatic.

I shook her hand breifly.  She didn't let it go.  As if I was going to give her the fight she wanted now, by either not shaking her hand, or jerking it away from her.  No such luck, psycho-bitch.

"OK!" she said, then threw my hand down ruefully, and returned to her table.

I sat at the bar next to two guys.  They turned to me.

"You came out of that all right.  You did well.  You're glad you can sit up at the bar with us.  We're glad to have you here, too.  She's crazy, man.  Choo-choo train.  Coo-koo." they said to me.  Which was the nicest thing I'd heard in a bar in a long time, it seems.

One clapped me on the back.

"Yeah, you came out of that all right.  She's a psycho bitch.  I've seen her around." he said.

So, if things happening in two's is good luck, I believe I have a powerful amount of good fortune headed my way.