I knew shit was going to go down as I stepped outside this evening. I know its clich, but there really was tension in the air. Luke felt it too. We conferred and agreed walking best be kept to a minimum.
Lewiston has been harsh the last few weeks, beginning with a brawl that verged on race riots the night before the 11th, carrying on through several rapes, brawls and a multiple stabbing on Thursday.
I am very glad that I stayed sober, because as I was crossing George A. Maher park, a car rolled by, and a bottle came flying at me. My hand was on my knife as the car pulled to a stop. A pair of teenagers stumbled out, muttering about the pain they planned to inflict upon me. I stood my ground, fists raised at my side, waiting for them to move. The taller one began to urinate on the flag pole. I never took my gaze off the shorter one. His companion was too drunk to do anything beyond swagger and grunt, but Shorty looked like the kind that might try something. A minute passed. Two minutes. Three.
I cracked my neck, and Shorty jumped back. I exhaled quickly, in mockery, then turned and continued walking toward lower Montello.
Faggot!
A rock landed near my feet.
As I reached into my bag, I heard Shorty scramble back, and fall over. I pulled out my 12oz bottle of Moxie, took a big swig, and flipped him off, over my shoulder, before disappearing into the shadows of the unlit side of the road.
Little boys who are afraid of the dark shouldnt leave the safety of their cars.