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He fucking started it!
He threw the first fucking punch!
Why the fuck am I being arrested?
This is total bullshit!
Oink-oink to you… yeah, you hear that?
I stood up from the cold bench and walked toward the sloppy drunk guy with the swollen left eye and bloody nose.
I had done a number on him without even really trying.
But it had to be done.
I had no choice in the matter.
I grabbed his left shoulder and spun him around.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growled. “Or else I’ll finish what I started.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you’ll be drinking from a straw for the next few months while doctors wait for you to keep shitting out pieces of your jaw. Got it?”
The guy swallowed hard.
I pushed him out of the way.
“Hey,” I called out. “I need to talk to someone.”
There was no answer.
I stood in the jail cell and listened to the drunk guy as the emotions of the night finally caught up to him.
He sat down and began to cry.
Crying like a kid who saved up money, bought a toy, then got the toy home and it broke in the first five minutes.
That was the booze catching up to all his terrible decisions.
What decisions did he make?
When the cops showed up, there was zero reason to defend myself.
Why bother?
I had beat the shit out of the guy.
Did he deserve it?
It depended on what ‘deserve’ meant.
The guy had been looking at me.
The guy wanted to buy me a drink.
Then he wanted an autograph. Then he wanted to talk to me about hockey. Then he wanted to give me suggestions on the team and how to handle the season.
