“Hit me as hard as you can”
He hit me as hard as he could. Or tried. See, just because I’m drunk and depressed and a little desensitized to getting punched in the face doesn’t mean I can’t mess with Donnie a little. So I slip to the left as his right cross whooshes past my ear and connects with nothing. It’s a beautiful thing, the Slip. So simple and ergonomic and absolutely humiliating. I short-stepped forward and made a quick quarter turn to my right, leaving him exposed and driving the message home a little bit more.
“See, just because I’m drunk and depressed and a little…”
He hit me as hard as he could again. I fell to the canvas and threw up a little bit more. Cesar is an 18-year-old who trains here too. His first professional fight was a month from then. He’s a cocky little self-serving punk on his way up. Nobody here can stand him.
Fucker’s just like me.
I made my way onto my knees and wiped the remaining vomit from my lips, then turned to look at him.
“You in the mood for ice cream?”
Comments (3 so far!)
Average Reader Rating