I thought that probably the best chance of getting my face smacked would be in an argument with a greasy Bay Ridger at some dank-ass bar, deep in Red Hook. Turns out I only had to venture a couple blocks into a quaint residential neighborhood for the bum ticker to get it on.
I should inform you, blogite, that my usual meandering about the streets of Carroll Gardens with roommate Kelley has us fitting in quite well with the surroundings. My darker, seemingly Italian looks and Kelley’s red Irish cocks-comb both harmonize with the culturally intertwined local spirit you can find on display at PJ Hanley’s Bar (that’s for another review). Anyhow, that night circa 2 am, any fear or respect our looks should have inspired didn’t apply to the bored, low-life, hood youngster scum that is so abundant in this town.
We were well into Henry street, a quiet, brownstone-lined, well-to-do area with a corner pizzeria with a front stoop harboring maybe ten teenagers having themselves a New York moment. I’m sure was a deep philosophical discussion they were having, but as we pass by them one of the larger set members suddenly broke loose from the pack. Hollering “Hey, how are you?” as I spun around distracted, this young hoodlum pops a sucker punch right to my left cheek. I was more stunned by the randomness of it all rather than any pain. Kelley, usually the effusive poet, was also rendered quite speechless.
So this pizza-loving douchebag bolts down Henry while his pathetic cronies are yelling in the street, pointing to which way he went. We snap out of shock and by instinct give chase, my vendetta fueled rage kicking in while Kelley spewed between breaths the most vile of ancient Gaelic curses in his repertoire. A couple blocks down Henry, probably at about Second Place, we realize there are still about five of the trolls trailing us. Kelley turns to me and in an Alec Baldwin voiced hush informs me of the potential for an urban ambush.
So we decided right then and there that our best course of action was to avoid an outnumbered street confrontation and so we turned down another street towards Court. The wanking blackhearts declined to follow.
What I should have done was whip out my cell phone and started barking orders in Russian. Then those kids would have been pissing their pants.
Shite happens, I guess…But doesn’t it suck how you always think of those things way after?
By guest blogger, JJP.