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After I threw a bottle of wine at the ugly statue, the hobo began cursing at me. As I prepared for a fight, he reached up and tore the earring out of my left ear. I shook my head vigorously as the blood sprayed his face.
Take that, fucker, I said, grabbing a piece of marble that had chipped off the statue and throwing it at the hobo.
At about this time, a group of vigilantes on Vespas puttered up and began shouting at me. I could see boxes of cold bologna sandwiches strapped to the seats of their scooters and realized these were the vegan hippies who feed the homeless. They came to defend this deranged hobo who was holding a portion of my left ear in his hand, the earring still attached.
Did I say he tore the earring out? My memory has faded. In actuality, he bit it off, taking a chunk of lobe with it. He spit it into his hand and sat there pawing at it as if it were a couple of doubloons he had gotten from a peg-legged pirate.
Anyways, here come the Vespa Vigilantes tearing up the sidewalk screaming at me as if I'm some kind of depraved beast. I reach out and grab my lobe out of the hobo's hand, shouting, "That's my fucking ear, you dirty dick," and take off at a slow sprint around the corner, past the new Argo Tea Cafe and the tourists clamoring to get into the Hershey store, knocking a shopping bag out of someone's hand. "Hey!" Mr. Tourist says as I run past.
When I get home, I pour some hydrogen peroxide into the bathroom sink and plop my detached lobe in it. I'm not sure if I'm thinking that it's going to be re-attached or what. All I know is that I want it to be clean. I look at myself in the mirror and see the stream of blood already drying on my neck and shoulder. "Motherfucker," I mutter as I realize that my favorite shirt is now ruined with bloodstains. I walk into the kitchen to grab some iced tea as I debate whether or not I should go the hospital to get my lobe sewn back on.
I walk into the living room, pop open my bottle of tea, light up a cigarette and realize that I don't have the wine because I threw it at the statue.
I suddenly replay the event in my mind, trying to recall what sparked it all.
It was that fucking hobo's fault. He saw the brown paper bag and asked for some cash. I told him in my usual dismissive manner that I had none and he then asked if he could have my wine instead.
"See that statue over there?" I ask him. "I'd sooner throw this bottle at that statue than give it to your drunk ass."
He replied, "I'd rather tear your fuckin' earring out than have you throw that fuckin' bottle."
We had both stood there for a good 20 seconds silently deciding our next course of action before I pulled the bottle out and threw it.
"Motherfucker, I told you I'd tear your fuckin earring out if you did that you stupid shit!"
God damn it hurts.
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"I can normally tell how intelligent a man is by how stupid he thinks I am" - Cormac McCarthy, All The Pretty Horses
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