Million Dollar Baby

So I'm sitting in my car on 8th Avenue... I just noticed that I may be physically inable to start a passage without using the word "So"... hmph.



As I was saying, before my psyche so rudely interrupted...



Last night I'm sitting in my car on 8th avenue between 30th and 31st street, the block before MSG/Penn Station and the big Post office. I'm parked in front of a bar, liquor store, sex shop and a pizza shop, sequetially. Now my car isn't new by any means, but not the worst of the bunch either. It's a little 95 VW Jetta, complete with crank windows, stick shift, and floor mats. One of the only redeeming qualities is the sun roof, which I use constantly. Last night was a nice night, so I have my roof open, and the front windows down about a 1/3 of the way, when suddenly this greasy european dude in a pair of khaki's and a button down, reaches his hand into my window toward me. Meanwhile, I am on the phone totally unsuspecting of this and look over to see this hand reaching toward me and I pretty much bug the fuck out. With my Golden Glove instincts intact I grab onto greasy eurodudes hand and dont let go as I punch away at it as hard and fast as I can. (I know I definitely broke at least a bone or two of his.) All the while he's screaming 'ok! ok!' until he eventually breaks free and dives into traffic and into a cab to get away from the impending doom of fuckin with the Million Dollar Baby... Chuck Norris would be proud.

My knuckles are now swollen and my fingers look like sausages. Ouch.