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I was out pounding the pavement looking for work; it was still early morning and the streets were almost empty. I was down town on Broadway past the bus station. There are several bars along there that open at six in the morning for those in need. I was walking along the sidewalk and was almost underneath one of those faded neon signs that has a cocktail glass tilted over with the cherry in the bottom, when the bar door flew open and a man and woman came flying out of the bar tangled up with each other in one hellachious brawl. I couldn’t say for sure who was winning; but being raised in the time honored tradition of chivalry, I jumped into the fray on the woman’s side. “Whoa!” I barked as I busted in between them. “Don’t be hittin’ the lady, fella,” I told the guy as I shoved him back on his heels. He staggered back but he didn’t go down, I’ll give him that. He had a puffed up polluted face with a puzzled look on it; he was trying to figure out where this guy came from and what had happened. Then, he pinched up his face, locked his jaw and swung at me with a roundhouser that I fended off with a raised forearm. I punched him in the ‘plexes’ hoping to knock out his wind. He doubled over some and stepped back. I was just cocking back a right jab to put him away when something landed on my back. It felt like I had been attached by a rooster; biting my ear, scratching at my eyes, pulling my hair, pounding at my kidneys screeching and screaming like a banshee. “Leave my ol’ man alone you son-of - bitch.” The guy moved in and slammed me up the side of the head and she rode me to the sidewalk. When we hit, it knocked her loose and she rolled away; so I rolled into the gutter and got to my feet. I started to run across the street and almost ran into a delivery truck coming down the road. It swerved just in time and the driver honked the horn and yelled something at me. I dove into the alley across the street and then looked back to see the couple hanging on each other like a couple of wet noodles, laughing and staggering back into the bar. I guess all they needed was a mutual enemy to patch up their differences. I headed for home to change my knee torn pants, clean off the blood and tend to the bruises. You know, this defending some damsel in distress ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. I think the next time; I’ll just mind my own business. Wayne Damron © 2009