Sixpence, the sequel (this time, it's personal)

So my co-workers are upstairs enjoying schmancy hors d'oeuvres and an open bar while I sit here, listening to Tapes n' Tapes and blogging. I owe it to my readers, ya little rascals.

When we left off, Niko and I were standing outside talking and smoking. The topic? I don't remember, give me a break. Okay fine, we were talking about topiary gardens. Happy?

All of a sudden, some fifteen year old kid with warmup gear and an afro went speeding by us, holding a black bag in his hands. I heard someone yelling, "Stop that kid!" After a second of processing, I realized what was going on, threw my cigarette on the ground and took off running.

Now I've always been an inordinately fast runner, considering my hedonistic, anti-health lifestyle. I think my blood is made up primarily of grain alcohol, nicotine and sausage. Nonetheless, I was able to catch up with Running Man within a couple blocks.

I grabbed him by his jersey and spun him around. The kid looked totally terrified, although I cut about as imposing a figure as David Faustino. He immediately starts saying, "I didn't do nothing, I swear, that guy is crazy!!!"

What guy? Omigod, he must mean the tall screaming man who is walking towards us with long Paul Bunyan strides and brimstone in his eyes. He kinda looked like a cross between David Bowie and the robot cop in Terminator 2. Also he must've been at least 65.

"Hey you little fuck! Thought you were a big man, huh? Thought you could just mouth off to whoever you want? I'll rip you apart!"

Whoa whoa, all of a sudden I realized the situation was a bit different than I anticipated. I had apprehended a little wiseguy, not a thief. And his 'victim' was actually a drunken madman, way too old to take a mouthy teenager seriously. The guy kept walking tall as the kid stumbled backwards, desperately pleading, "Leave me alone, I was just kidding, c'mon man, it's cool..."

Next thing I'm putting my hand on the big guy's chest, telling him to cool off, not to worry about it, he's just a kid, etc. It took about 100 feet of walking before I made an impact. All of a sudden, like when Wily Coyote looks around and realizes he has actually run off the cliff, the guy looked me in the eyes and snapped out of his anger-trance.

"Hey man, you're right, it's not worth it. I don't need to get arrested tonight." He turned around and we walked back to the bar.

Sorry Rebecca, not really a hero. Just a fast runner.

Epilogue:
Later, back at the Newtown, I had to ask the guy, "Why would you yell out 'Somebody stop that kid' when it was your beef?"
He responded, "I've been coming to this bar since God was a child, I figured somebody outside would get my back."

The guy then bought me a healthy tumbler of whiskey.