goofy mutherfucka?"
I didn't have to psyche myself up or fabricate any crazy rolls this time. I was there. Slamming his leg away with an open palm, I said, "Get yaw fuckin' leg outta dere or I'll shove it up yaw sorry ass for ya."
Then I shoved the son of a bitch, hard, with the heels of both hands, and he bounced off the poor bastard standing next to him. "You been starin' at her since you got on da fuckin' train … and don't give me no stunned fuckin' looks neither, lame, you know exactly what I'm talkin' about."
I shoved him again. Of course all the passengers were rubber-necking by now, half of them on their toes, some peaking from behind somebody else, none of them wanting to become another target for this crazed, skinny kid's rage.
By now the jerk's eyes were so wide they looked like bulls-eyes to me. In the worst way, I wanted him to retaliate.
I egged him on. A scowl on my face, the nastiest, meanest scowl I'm capable of, I continued the verbal portion of my assault, "What do ya say me an' you dance, right here? Come on, youuu-biiig-piece-a-shit." I had my fists up now, begging for it. "Come on … come on … let's lock asses, asshole."
Right then, the train halted and the doors pulled opened. "Excuse me, excuse me, please … Getting off." Old Mister big-eyes was scurrying recklessly for the closest exit, threading his horny ass through the assemblage of packed bodies, probably rubbing up against a few along the way.
I was HOT, but I felt both good and like shit at the same time. My actions were justified, both in my mind and according to New York street-law, but still, half of me felt like a bully. And that irked me. Why should I feel like a terrorizer after some dipshit twice my size had crossed a well-known forbidden line? Nevertheless, I somehow couldn't shake the guilt
By the time Theresa and I climbed the subway steps beneath the clock on Main Street, darkness had taken its hold. We buttoned up our coats, locked arms and merged into the bustling tide of humanity rushing by on the sidewalk. With Christmas in the air, this shopping district was more abuzz than usual. People, weighed down with bags and packages, still had that holiday bounce to their steps as they gravitated to stores and shops up and down Main and Roosevelt. Under the clock, others waited to consummate meetings with friends, lovers, connections, whomever. A car stopped short, it's horn protesting gratingly as a pack of daring teenagers, fearless and immortal, jay-ran across Roosevelt. Lights from storefronts and signs glowed on the cement sidewalks.
Theresa and I headed to my house to watch TV and, hopefully, if the opportunity presented itself, to fool around a little on the couch. Prospects seemed good. Dad would be helping out at a church function, and Ma, after her exhausting days filled with worry, prayer and depression, usually went to bed by eight. Although neither of us brought it up, Theresa and I both anticipated getting it on, as long as Ma went to bed on schedule.
The light outside the subway turned green and, along with a herd of other pedestrians, we darted across the avenue. Climbing onto the curb on the other side, in front of Woolworth's, I asked, "What do ya say we take some pictures, Theresa?" I was pointing to the booth inside the 5 & 10's plate glass windows. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time but kept forgetting about it."
I plopped onto the seat first then Theresa climbed onto my lap and sat cross-legged. Both of us giddy and giggling by now, she closed out the store's cosmetic section with the booth's green curtain, took a brush from her purse, stroked her hair a few times, then pivoted toward me, setting me off just a little, and ran the brush through the windblown locks on my forehead. Then she patted my hair, kissed the tip of my nose and cuddled her cold cheek
I didn't have to psyche myself up or fabricate any crazy rolls this time. I was there. Slamming his leg away with an open palm, I said, "Get yaw fuckin' leg outta dere or I'll shove it up yaw sorry ass for ya."
Then I shoved the son of a bitch, hard, with the heels of both hands, and he bounced off the poor bastard standing next to him. "You been starin' at her since you got on da fuckin' train … and don't give me no stunned fuckin' looks neither, lame, you know exactly what I'm talkin' about."
I shoved him again. Of course all the passengers were rubber-necking by now, half of them on their toes, some peaking from behind somebody else, none of them wanting to become another target for this crazed, skinny kid's rage.
By now the jerk's eyes were so wide they looked like bulls-eyes to me. In the worst way, I wanted him to retaliate.
I egged him on. A scowl on my face, the nastiest, meanest scowl I'm capable of, I continued the verbal portion of my assault, "What do ya say me an' you dance, right here? Come on, youuu-biiig-piece-a-shit." I had my fists up now, begging for it. "Come on … come on … let's lock asses, asshole."
Right then, the train halted and the doors pulled opened. "Excuse me, excuse me, please … Getting off." Old Mister big-eyes was scurrying recklessly for the closest exit, threading his horny ass through the assemblage of packed bodies, probably rubbing up against a few along the way.
I was HOT, but I felt both good and like shit at the same time. My actions were justified, both in my mind and according to New York street-law, but still, half of me felt like a bully. And that irked me. Why should I feel like a terrorizer after some dipshit twice my size had crossed a well-known forbidden line? Nevertheless, I somehow couldn't shake the guilt
By the time Theresa and I climbed the subway steps beneath the clock on Main Street, darkness had taken its hold. We buttoned up our coats, locked arms and merged into the bustling tide of humanity rushing by on the sidewalk. With Christmas in the air, this shopping district was more abuzz than usual. People, weighed down with bags and packages, still had that holiday bounce to their steps as they gravitated to stores and shops up and down Main and Roosevelt. Under the clock, others waited to consummate meetings with friends, lovers, connections, whomever. A car stopped short, it's horn protesting gratingly as a pack of daring teenagers, fearless and immortal, jay-ran across Roosevelt. Lights from storefronts and signs glowed on the cement sidewalks.
Theresa and I headed to my house to watch TV and, hopefully, if the opportunity presented itself, to fool around a little on the couch. Prospects seemed good. Dad would be helping out at a church function, and Ma, after her exhausting days filled with worry, prayer and depression, usually went to bed by eight. Although neither of us brought it up, Theresa and I both anticipated getting it on, as long as Ma went to bed on schedule.
The light outside the subway turned green and, along with a herd of other pedestrians, we darted across the avenue. Climbing onto the curb on the other side, in front of Woolworth's, I asked, "What do ya say we take some pictures, Theresa?" I was pointing to the booth inside the 5 & 10's plate glass windows. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time but kept forgetting about it."
I plopped onto the seat first then Theresa climbed onto my lap and sat cross-legged. Both of us giddy and giggling by now, she closed out the store's cosmetic section with the booth's green curtain, took a brush from her purse, stroked her hair a few times, then pivoted toward me, setting me off just a little, and ran the brush through the windblown locks on my forehead. Then she patted my hair, kissed the tip of my nose and cuddled her cold cheek
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