There is No Confidence Without a Reliable Reality

I squared off with the giant bearded biker as a drunken crowd roared enthusiastically. The biker looked like a sadistic Santa Claus- one that had discovered steroids and meth. He raised his enormous fists up in front of his face and I saw that his knuckles had curious swirling tattoos that almost looked like cursive writing.

Even though he was enormous, I was confident. I had seven years of kick boxing under my belt and apparently knew something he didn’t- namely that ponytails and beards were a gift to one’s opponent. It gave them power over your head and neck.

As his first punch came barreling toward me, I slipped by it, letting my momentum carry me forward, and grabbed his beard with both hands. I pulled down with all my strength, trying to force him to the ground but his head stayed locked in place while the lower half of his face stretched down as though it were elastic. The filthy hair around his lips curled back, widening into a gaping maw, ringed with large flat teeth that had no place on a man.

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