The Fight

Saturday, August 26th, 2017

He was good. I could tell by how he handled himself. We had yet to exchange blows, but I knew it'd be a tough fight. I had been walking down a sidewalk in downtown when I found myself in a lonely alley. This isn't too strange, as I often go wherever the wind takes me, but this time it was a little different because a man stepped out from behind a dumpster, spread his feet apart and crossed his arms as if to say, "You ain't going nowhere. You're mine." He had about two and a half inches on me, a green shirt while I had only a brown one, and you could tell by his fists he was a fighter. Gulp. What to do? Run? No, the path behind me was blocked with people waiting expectantly for the fight to come. Well, here goes something.

Not being one to respond first, I went in with a quick jab from the left. He parried and threw a right hook. Then we both backed off and circled for a second, sizing each other up. I prepared to land a vicious uppercut, but before I could start it he threw a quick jab. I kicked his foot dislocating a toe or two, and the fight raged on. It went and went. Endurance is usually on my side, and this was no exception. As the fight wore on, he slowed down. He was tiring. I could almost taste victory on my lips. Then, somebody threw a banana peel off to the right and I caught a glimpse of it. My opponent took advantage of my distraction and threw a wide hard right hook, hitting me in the temple. It was a simple pawn fork I hadn't seen, checking my king and winning the rook, and then he would queen on the next move. I hadn't seen it, and so now I resigned. I shook hands with my worthy opponent whom I'd chanced across at the chess tables in downtown Moscow during farmer's market, and went on my way. He asked for a rematch, but I had to be somewhere in a couple minutes so I left. Maybe next time.