My Safety [concerning Mike Vilensky's concern]
The crazy girl took her exboyfriend roommate aside and growled, "Does he want to fuck her, huh?" and then began making sex-moan sounds.
"No, no," her exboyfriend roommate said of Justin, "he's just walking her home. It's really late."
Channing was with us and had come into a popped bag of popcorn that she was eating at the apartment's kitchen table, which was centered by a tall cylindrical vase filled with wrapped condoms. The crazy girl, in response to Justin's preference of Peri, first grabbed the vase and poured its contents out of a large window.
That was really just a terrible idea, I thought.
"I want to go get something else to eat," Channing said, hoping to initiate an exit before things got weird. It was too late for that, though, as the crazy girl grabbed the popcorn bag and flung it across the room, hurling microwavable shrapnel onto everyone's feet.
"We should get going," Peri said quickly.
"Good idea!" Channing cheered.
"I'll walk you guys home," Justin reiterated.
I looked down at the kitchen table. Now that there wasn't any food on it and no vase I could see there was a set of brass knuckles. I grabbed them and zipped them into my fanniepack and ran down the stairs.
I showed them to Lil Jenny the next day and she was impressed, understandably. They're not engraved but they just gleam [no scratches] and they're dense but not too heavy to string on a necklace.
"I think I'm just going to wear them around every day."
"Ha. Noooooo," she laughed. "It's like, an illegal weapon." I had forgotten all about gang warfare. Back in the fanniepack they went.
I was on the train [alone] a few days later. I was seated next to a semi-stylish, older woman when the train stopped at 34th St. Penn Station and on came two women in the same age group with short, fried blond hair, four-pregnancies stomachs, and ugly manicures. They sat to my left and began talking about Times Square and I'm pretty sure that the lady on my right was watching me watch them in light-hearted disgust. Breaking concentration, I opened my fanniepack to find a piece of paper with an address, but the woman to my right was still watching me as I shuffled around my brass knuckles. Then I zipped up quickly, for fear that the woman would recognize my concealed weapon; I was worried she'd If You See Something Say Something me.