brazenfait

So, today, I was beat up by a random drunk.

I was walking home from the local pizza place at noon when I passed a guy on the opposite side of the street. We were both in front of a church. He turns around and starts calling out "Hey, man!". I didn't pay attention and kept walking. He repeated himself a few times, and asked me to come to him but I wouldn't and I once again started walking. He calls out to me again "Wait up, man!".

Now, I have never seen this man before in my life, and, aside from asking him what he wants and then walking away, I have never spoken to this man in my life.

Which is why I was surprised that he stepped up nose to nose with me, and started telling me I had an attitude.

I was more confused when he asked me if I had "character". As in "You think you got character, man?". Which is when I made the mistake of saying, "What? No, I don't know what your talking about, I am just trying to walk home, man."

While my head was turned to point to my house, he punched me in the jaw and broke my tooth.

When I was staggering back trying to figure out what happened, he punched me in the left cheek, then the right temple.

This is when I fell down.

I have come to terms with my pacifism. I have been an asshole, on occasion, just the same as anyone else, but I have never thrown a punch in anger in all of my life. Thankfully, I am six foot four inches tall, male, two hundred and thirty pounds, and fairly cautious, so it has been very rare that I have had anyone start a fight with me, and never that I could not talk my way out of it.

When I was lying on the ground, being punched in the back of the head, and both ears, while trying to stay out of the range of his work boots, it occurred to me that now, right now, would be a good time to know how to fight.

I really have no idea what he was yelling at me at this point. I am not really sure how many times he hit me. I am not sure when he stopped. I don't know where he went.

I do know that I was amazed that the palm of my hand was filled with blood.

I wiped it on my knee, and tried to straighten my tooth after I spit the blood out of my mouth.

He was still yelling, but he was farther away now. I didn't really look. I got up and pointed my feet homeward and starting to walk.

I vaguely remember wondering how much blood was on me, and thinking "probably not very much", when my neighbor waved at me when I started up my driveway.

The police were sympathetic, but not especially optimistic about finding the guy.
My friend, who drove me to the hospital with his two kids in the back, was horrified and protective.
The nice ladies at the hospital were kind but distant, they probably know better then to take any story at face value, nor to invest too strongly in anyones pain.

Me? I don't know what to think.
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I think I will have to go to that church that was across the street, and request that they pray for that poor broken man. He is going to get himself hurt someday. Someone ought to look out for him, I think he is a deeply troubled soul.
I'll have to go on a weekday, so they don't make me go to services or something. My agnosticism is feeling a bit inflamed this week.