Gorillaz - Rhinestone Eyes

1/2 a pack of smokes every day, sometimes more. too much weed: always. buffered by alcohol, assorted recreational drugs and a passion for red meat made me a thick boy. thick and out of shape. but no matter what the state of my body was, present me with a chance to brawl and i will bound into action. it was a thrill to get torqued up and go nuts. something that i didn't get to enjoy often but i was panting softly and warm with my own self-worth as a fighter.

naturally, the first night that Brad allowed himself to go slumming and take me to the bar with him this shit happens. i was a good boy, hanging back and only chatting when engaged. never stepping on his dick if a hot guy wandered past. strictly decoration.

i made sure i was muzzled down with a 1/4 bag of blow. where the average cat can't shut up when they're on it, the same doesn't happen with me. in real time, i never shut up. ever. but flip that up my nose and all i can do is nod and listen. one night when i split an 8 ball with my ex we counted 128 words that i said over the course of 8 hours. i know that it's an easy fix when i don't want to open my trap and embarrass myself.
i slugged back a bottle of water and walked to the bathroom. everything flipping in and out of the lights. arms up dancing, arms around bodies... my arms pushing back my shoulders to give them some purpose instead of diddling the baggie in my jean pocket. i wonder if my eyeliner looks ok still?
springy steps with a small turn up of my lips. happy to get high and happy to be drowning in steamy dance floor funk. oh my wonderful urban life! look! there's a boy grabbing another guys dick! and there's that bartender i submitted a demo tape for! [he couldn't get it up on command]

i caught the look at two boys standing by the hall to the can. as always i assumed it was disgust seeing my fat body walk around with an unheard of confidence. or at least their understanding was that the ugly didn't have any confidence. nothing to me. i was so close that no one would hold my attention for long.

girls washroom is for taking a piss. boys is for fucking and drugging. never mix those things up in a gay bar.

i walked in and heard a thud of someone being pressed up against a stall in use. joyous rapture! there was an empty stall with a buffer between the sweet love that was on the verge of spurting out.
a scooch on the tiles made me turn around. a friendly blond parasite had followed me in with another little bud. i was thrilled that brad would tolerate being in such tight quarters with me, save the addition of a friend.
piling into the stall i made the tag along take the tight spot and i was afforded the luxurious wall with no toilet paper dispenser on the side. key out, dip and whiff.
"it's good..."
nodding vigorously.
"hey are you ok?"
"he's fine. he can't talk when he's on it."
"really?! I can't shut up!"
eyebrow up and nodding.
he looked to brad, "seriously, he won't talk?"
"ugh. you can talk to him he just won't reply unless it's really important."
"oh... my turn!"
doling out the medicine to the babies i had a final one for myself. i pointed to the door to herald our departure.
sniffing and schwacking noises of raped sinuses trumpeting our arrival to the hall. the tag along was giggling and walked a head to go grab another drink at the bar. brad and i checked our phones and walked in tandem. i was in the middle of deciding who i was going to respond to when i saw brad fall behind. i looked back and he had turned around to talk to someone. or at least i thought it was talk. a tanned hand gripped his forearm and applied noticeable pressure. he yanked brad in and said something harsh.
i swell in those moments. saturated in my muscle memory of being beaten or seeing violence looming in a patient when i used to work at a mental hospital. it's that big moment where everything in me expands and i'm king fucking kong coming onto the scene. moving quickly back to brad a hand grabbed my by the shoulder and hauled me roughly.
"where are YOU going? this doesn't concern you."
turning around i looked up at some Slavic cheeks and a mean stare. well, sorry punk-ass. daddy says not tonight.
gripping his wrist i turned the screws on and pinched it. it's a tidal wave of agony to experience. and that's why i was so good at it. the eyes tell everything. and it radioed loudly that it hurt. yanked him down to my face and pushed my fingers down even harder. he was full of panic that he was in over his head and his backup was busy. which reminded me, time to save the baby.
goon trapped in one hand i dragged him over to the other scene.
"let him go. brad..." head gesture of c'mon.
"MAYBE YOU SHOULD LET US TALK!"
"maybe i break his arm?" i hauled up goon two's arm for a look-see and he groaned.
the associate was now squeaking and panting. "let... let... let me go! it's going to break!"
"no, long way off. brad. now."
we were having a standoff. two arms snapped in a rage trap and neither of us willing to let go. normally i'm an eloquent bastard in these situations. talking around someone to diffuse a bomb or being so smarmy that the attention was focused on me. my powder muzzle wouldn't slip off and i couldn't say a word.
"who's this?! who's this guy?!"
"it's my..." his head tipped backwards in reaction to the grip. "my roommate."
"so this roommate and you just like taking off to fuck in the bathroom?"
"no that's not what... we..." deep sucking breath and i know he was in pain.
the hand goes off goon two and i rushed at goon one. this time i went for the throat and plugged my palm over his adams apple and dug an index finger and thumb under his jaw. apply pressure and be ready for hands to grapple your arms. no matter, it just makes me grip harder.
he made a glucking noise and didn't know what to do next. that's when i got the punch to the back of the head. Goon two had made a recovery and pegged me in the back of the head. stunned i let go to turn around and duck a fist and swoop my knee up to blast his crotch. threat down, turn around. in that short time the unnamed goon had started laying punches out but Brad had finally kicked into gear and was fighting back. trying to go back to help i realized we were all getting herded out by security as we clawed and flailed around. who says fags can't fight?
my tenure at Ironwood Bar gave me the luxury of never getting turfed out. they assumed it was me being picked on and i threw my hands up in a silent "woo!" as the goons were pitched down the stairs in a whirl of white shirts and well-made jeans.
Brad was shaking and standing behind me as i turned to a bouncer to try and stammer out some sort of sentence.
Down the stairs the monsters were woozy but coming back to life.
"YOU FAT PIECE OF SHIT! I'LL KILL YOU! YOU DON'T CROSS ME! I KNOW WHERE YOU TWO LIVE, I'LL KILL YOU AND I'LL KILL THAT STUPID DOG I ALWAYS SEE YOU WITH!"
boom.
no, you can call me fat. you can call me a piece of shit. because i am, in fact, a fat piece of shit. but you don't tell me you're going to murder my godchild Maude. not ever.
after the fact, my friend Jason who was out having a smoke recounted my epic fury. there were only 4 steps to the sidewalk but i leaped up like a berserker Wolverine and jumped on them with my fist up. A collective "oh!" came from the smoking section and i dropped my fist into whatever face i could get a hold of. all i remember is being pulled off by three bouncers as the goons were laid out, woozy and winded from 215 pounds taking a flying jump onto them. they took off before i could tell someone to grab them. slobbering in tongues i was delirious with anger and didn't care when i was dropped from waist height onto the neighboring stoop.
typical wimp, after it's all done is when i start to cry. or at least i would have if the coke wasn't still burning through me. i wanted to yell but nothing would come out. just take a minute. catch your breath.
noise noise out of my view and Brad was chucked out and told to not come back. i kept looking up as his shoes padded over to me.
eyes looking down from the sky. "good god, are you all right?"
nodding.
"i've never seen you go off like that."
"i've never seen you get roughed up like that without kicking up a stink."
he plopped down and checked out his hands. blood and rips and smears. we were both biohazzards.
remind me to never go to the bar with you again.
too bad i couldn't actually say it.
out of breath and thinking about puking i laid on the stairs waiting for Brad to say something.
brad slumped over up and patted at his already swollen lip. he didn't look too bad. nothing an icepack couldn't fix. then he dipped his head down low in reflection to sigh.
chills, horror, sickness...
an enormous hank of his hair had gotten yanked out in our small fisticuffs exchange.
there it was. the dimensions of a fist spread out... bare skin with patchy outcroppings of hair in between. something that would be simply impossible to hide.
"oh.... no."
"oh no what? hey, what the hell is wrong with you? you're so pale."
slowly pulling myself up i leaned over to him and put a firm hand on top of his head to turn it sidways. My shakey hands reached up and touched the skant patch of ripped out hair. i was shocked he couldn't feel it throbbing, must be riding high on the chemical joy of brawling.
"wh... what?" his hand darted up to feel. now i really wanted to get sick. that kind of rage has a texture... a feel... and it was pouring out of him.
"brad, wait."
up and steadying for a moment. we were a little punch drunk at this point.
"Brad...i..."
i'm sure the night air zipped over the bald spot making it tangible. he was striding out like john wayne down the street, no doubt trying to catch up with the goons. great, this isn't settled. i was thankful that i didn't have a bloody nose at least.