Just Cured - Experience Fine Foods

I have gotten used to the shouting that passes for conversation in the streets of my new work neighborhood.† I rarely pay attention to those conversations that degenerate into profane versions of “gonna mess you up.”† In my limited experience, these shouting matches almost never escalate into something more — at least during daylight hours.

And so, today on my mid-day walk, I took but little notice to the jawing of two guys on the street.† I see both of them around, often together.† The first was a rail thin young man.† I have the impression that he gets into fights often.† I have seen him with a black eye, a split lip and various cuts and scrapes.† He appears to get better than he gives; and I have come upon him while complaining about an assailant or two.† The second was also thin, but has the physique that comes only from having spent untold hours in the gym — broad shoulders, thin waist and hips, every muscle cut with definition.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the skinny guy charge the muscular one and throw a wild punch.† I turned and watched the muscular one hold onto the skinny guy.† The muscular one was sufficiently strong to restrain the skinny guy and appeared to have the fight under control.

As if in slow motion, I saw the skinny guy reach for, and grab, an empty glass bottle.† The first swing glanced off muscular guy’s back.† The second connected squarely with the back of his head.† The third shattered the bottle, and blood spurted from muscular guy’s head.

With that, merely subduing skinny guy was no longer an option.† Muscular guy unleashed a barrage of blows that with their precision, pacing and effect revealed his obvious training as a boxer — to chin, cheek, abdomen and kidney. Blood flowed copiously down muscular guy’s back and splattered with each turn of his head

Skinny guy appeared to have enough, then charged.† And another flurry erupted.† Yet another charge and flurry ensued after that.

Throughout the fight, friends of the combatants and onlookers screamed and cried and tried to separate them.† No entreaty was going to be effective until the two were spent.

I walked past that same block 45 minutes later.† The two fighters were sitting together on a stoop a few doors from the location of the brawl.† Skinny guy’s face was a lumpy pulp.† Tomorrow his right eye will be swollen shut and his cheekbone or orbital bone may be broken.† The boxer’s bloody shirt lay beside him, a towel and ice pack draped over his nearly shaved head.

I heard them telling those gathered nearby of an “accident” between these two who called each other brother.† And as they described this accident and each other’s performance during the accident, they passed between the two an enormous joint as if it were a modern, urban peace pipe.

Brothers?† Accident?† Weed?

Aren’t families grand?

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