Kids in the Hall

“Listen, man, we’re just sharing the space here and your commentary is getting ugly.” I cautioned, turning to face him in the theater’s west hall.

Instead of backing down, he tossed his jacket aside and stepped forward smugly. Paul yelped a stern warning, but I wasn’t here to fight the prick.

“Looks like you got an admirer, that one right there!” He sneered, shaking his head in disgust, “Lets see what you got, pretty boy,” he challenged, his veined fists clenching at his sides.

“What I’ve got is too much respect for him and myself to lay a hand on you, asshole.” My voice was reaching an intimidating timbre, and Paul grasped my arm sharply. Pulling away, I wanted this man to stand up to his own hatred and at least internalize his guilt. It would have been giving him more credit than was due to say he’d figured this out, because of his resolute indignation, he swung anyway. The jab would have connected much more painfully with my jaw, however, had Paul not been so well trained to pin a man in seconds.

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