My friend related a fun fighting anecdote to me recently. Some years ago, he explained, he was waiting in line to get into a Hollywood bar/nightclub. The establishment happened to have a particularly discerning doorman, and as such a crowd had formed waiting to get in. My friend was waiting patiently alongside his date, when an inebriated bully – upset at the delay – began harassing innocent bystanders, trying to rally the crowd to rise up against the doorman.
After a time, my friend took the initiative and told the guy that he was causing trouble and that he should leave. I need to add that my friend is not a particularly imposing man; he’s in good shape but even so, he’s of just above average height and build. Additionally, he was wasted, having taken a bunch of Vicoden and booze. He was, he explained, feeling good, feeling loose.
Trevor would never tell his friends, but he’s nervous. He and Kyle and Dave have taken over the front of the subway car, the part near the conductors’ compartment along with the single seat across from the bench that fits 5 or 6 people; basically everything North of the first set of doors. The boys are spread out with their feet up on the seats, like they own the place. To Trevor, sitting this way feels provocative. They aren’t denying anyone a seat. There are plenty of places to sit in the mostly empty train, but they are clearly staking out this part of it as their own. Without saying so, they are telling the other riders to go sit somewhere else. He knows it’s not a very tough-guy thought to have and would never let the others know this is how he’s feeling, but all the same, they are kind of asking for trouble. Why give anyone a reason to fuck with us, he thinks. He would never say it out loud though. If he did, he’d look like a real pussy. Continue reading “Uptown Dust”