Swinging At The Air

another installation of my Long Beach tales. I came across a trouble maker. It had gotten bad. Little did I know it was the beginning to an end.

 

 

       Like a bull spotting blurry figures, I stomped on. My boots clicking on the hard concert with vision of blisters I would collect by the end of my drunken journey. After a few minutes, I was parallel to the unruly pack of young, millennial beasts " dressed to the nine in their baggy, ill fitted bar attire.

      They all passed without incident except one. Him. The last one was a skinny, Latino male with a slim goatee and an oversized, green ski cap fitting snuggly on his head. He looked directly in my eyes, jumped up and screamed in my face while continuing his trek.

      I took a couple quick steps forward until we were even once again.


"What's up man?"

    
I squared up ready to meet his bellow with swings - already angrily intoxicated. He had unknowingly stepped over an invisible line in quicksand. I wanted to make him hurt. The taller, dark haired millennial with the tight black shirt and dark puffed hair tried to use his arm as a barrier between us. But the more is arm came up - the harder I shoved it out of my way.

     What a nasty berserker I became under the control of hard spirits. This young wanna be rebel had to pay. He had step to the wrong self-loathing loner at the wrong time. Already furious I had to endure the number 60 bus north. Already agitated it was a good five mile walk back to my flop house and I was wearing these boots that made my feet scream and heels repent. Oh have mercy God. What saint is the saint of aching feet and fragile nerves.

     I would revert back to my altar boy days, get down on my knees and pray for a magic taxi " driven by a Punjabi man. But first I had to handle this big mouth Azteca. 


     I swung at him but my motor skills were off. I missed him by five and a half miles. He was in survival mode and was only thinking duck not deliver. His friend stuck his arm out again as some makeshift flesh safety bar. I shoved even harder. I could sense the peacemaker was gone and he had become a spectator.

     I swung again but missed wildly. I was a nightmare on Irish whiskey spirits they probably hoped would pass like a summer thunderstorm. The wailing from the tight skirt wearing young wenches grabbed my conscience and for a moment as mercy crept in my soul. It was enough for them to do a group sprint across the street to their new Valhalla.

     I screamed after them like a mad man,


"Get back here you p***y!"


I hoped my words might track him down and finish the task. I finished my trek to Long Beach Blvd and waited for the bus to hell...

Author's Note

Comments please.....Thank you

Reviews

[Barbara Walker]

Love the descriptive introduction to this piece. It's one of the great characteristics of all your writings. One of mine, as a reviewer, is to unconsciously catch spelling errors and the like. Truly, I don't set out to catch them! I'm sure your boots were clicking on hard concrete, not on a musical concert. Heck, while I'm in the area, not having a period after the word "My" would make the intro grammatically correct. Perhaps you could insert a ; after the word "on"? No period after "minutes" and delete the quote mark after "beasts". And make the word "nine" plural.Oh, I'll stop with the technical or I won't have time to express how your words always bring me into your stories, bringing me to that place at that time. Kudos!

[Judas Hammer]

I thank you for the read and the edit. You are always so helpful. Thank you again...

[M Garcia]

Good read. Thanks for sharing.

[Layla J Omorose]

Beginning line, did you mean "concrete" instead of "concert"?
I see Barbara has pointed out some edits that need to be made, so I wont bother doing it.

However, I will say I do enjoy your descriptions, they are very vivid and easy to see. And you are able to pull the reader in with a strong voice... well done.

[Leslie Philibert]

A writer I like for his freshness and energy, a street-wise talent with energy that has shades of Bukowski !

[Judas Hammer]

Thank You my friend. That's means alot coming from someone with your talent.

[Coyote Poetry]

A wild night described my friend. I had a few like this one. In the morning. I felt the pain for being a madman. Always a pleasure to read your work my friend.
Coyote