“I had Taco Bell for dinner and that’s what I think of your hat!” After he took his liberties, he  flung the hat over the bar.

Vance chuckled a bit and muttered something about baseball caps being for children and hiding baldness. Given the fact his hairline was retreating faster than the Amazon rain forest, I could only smile.

“What the hell, Damien?” I blurted “You gonna buy me a new hat? You’ve defiled it!”

“Fuck you and your hat!” He replied with an inebriated grin.

In the name of peace, I ignored Damien and proceeded to converse with Vance. He was droning on about his various hypochondriac driven physical ailments as usual.  I was on my fourth beer and was looking to leave soon. It was then Damien snatched the back of my neck and gave me a hard head butt.

I smelt a bit of bone, but quickly recovered from the blow. I grabbed Damien in a harsh manner and was met with a stupefied smile.

“Hey Damien, we are in a grocery store? What the fuck is with your attitude?” This was greeted by a rabbit punch to the back of my neck. He was wearing a ring and it made quite an indent.

He made another motion to strike and I grabbed his fist.  I crushed down upon it with my hand and informed him that that there would be some serious repercussions if he continued. This was again met with a silly lopsided grin.  He took his free hand and proceeded to deliver another head butt.  This was going to get ugly and I thought to take Damien home before he caused an uncomfortable scene.

I was in no shape to drive, so I called a cab. Despite Damien’s actions, I knew he did not belong on the road and I let a cooler head prevail. He’d always seemed a decent fellow in the past, so I’d chalk this off to a bad day.

“Damien…we are leaving now. Give me your address!” I said.

“FUCK YOU!!!” was he yelled out as a young family walked by “HEY IGOR GET ME ANOTHER BEER!”

Igor refused to serve him and I repeated my question.

“What’s your home number, Damien?? We need to leave now!”

“GO TO HELL!” was the response. He nearly slipped off of his chair and was drooling slightly.

“Fine, we need to take this out in to the parking lot!” I said, thinking he would respond to this type of stimulus.

Lo and behold, we were on our way. I assured Damien we would resolve things like men outside. I picked up a six pack of beer and allowed Damien to lean on me so he could walk upright. We got to the check out line then his drunk animal side came out again. This  time it was directed towards the attractive Ethiopian cashier.

“You’re hot! I want to fuck you!” He slurred.

She looked extremely uncomfortable. I gave her a sympathetic look. I had to hold Damien back so he would not grab her ass.  I could see the cab was waiting out front and I dragged Damien towards the exit as quickly as possible.  He loosened himself and delivered a hard blow to my kidney.

“You’re really pushing my patience, Damien!” I growled while wincing. I clamped down on his arm and twisted his wrist.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the situation under control.

He could barely walk so I took his arm. Two young women outside the store noticed us walk out and exclaimed “Awww how cute! That’s so sweet, helping your little brother!” I rolled my eyes and dragged him toward the cab. Damien broke free and ran in to the parking lot. Before I knew it he unzipped his fly and began to urinate on a car. As luck would have it, the owner of the vehicle was approaching it at the same time.

“You boys been drinking at Whole Wallet?!” The car’s owner said.

“No sir, just one too many margaritas at the Thai restaurant” I replied, my face turning redder than normal. “Sorry, but the weatherman calls for rain anyways.”

I took hold of Damien in a rough manner and forced him away. I dragged him away to the cab. As I pushed him in, his head caught the top of the car. I doubt he felt it. The driver was a Sikh and he looked apprehensive.

“Where can I take you?” He asked.

I had no idea where Damien lived and he was not very forthcoming with any information. I asked him repeatedly and he just pointed off to some random point in the sky. Our driver looked impatient. My frustration was growing and I had to wrestle him for his phone. Luckily, he had WIFE listed as one of his contacts.  I called her and she sounded less than pleased. She gave me the address and I imparted the information to our driver.  We arrived at his house and I asked the driver to wait.

Damien burst out of the car and ran to his porch. He grabbed a jack-o-lantern and smashed it in the street. I walked to his door and knocked. I was greeted by an angry woman and a pit bull.

“Your husband is smashing a pumpkin in the street and is very drunk” I told her.

She scowled at me a bit as if I was to blame for her husbands actions. I hopped back in to the cab and went home. I have not seen Damien at Whole Wallet since. The staff has since thanked me for my act of restraint.

It was early, so the grocery store Whole Wallet seemed like an appropriate destination. My local Whole Wallet is a small store; however they boast several fine beers on tap at any given time. I had called my friend Ford prior and he had arrived before me.

“Nice fucking hat, Brandon!” he exclaimed as I walked towards the bar, obviously bitter that his team had lost in such an ignominious fashion.

“Great game huh?” I replied with a grin.

“What’s with the Giants hat? I thought you were a Jets fan! Way to bandwagon!” he quipped.

“I’m a New York football fan. Better luck next game!”

We quibbled for a bit over my football allegiances then settled down to the task at hand, beer. Shortly thereafter Damien showed up.  He was in Sunday grunge wear and apparently had a few cocktails before arriving.  A long suffering Redskins fan, Damien also voiced disapproval when he gazed upon my hat.

“I used to like you…” he said with a scowl and a slight slur.

Prior to this day, I had only seen Damien in business clothes.  That said, I did not realize his body was decorated with enough tattoos to rival the amount of work in the Museum of Modern Art.  Damien was not the tallest fellow and all of 5’4”. He is a stocky guy however with a scrappy disposition to boot. His tattoos reflected the fact that he was proud of his Irish-American heritage. After a couple of beers, I began to ask questions about them.

“So, the harp with a dagger in it….What’s the significance there?” I asked.  The question was greeted with an angry stare.

“It’s about the struggle!” he retorted “As a fellow Irishman, I’d think you’d know better than to ask such a stupid fucking question!”

It quickly became clear that Damien did not fall in to the ‘happy drunk’ category. He was growing increasingly hostile by the beer.  He grumbled about Ireland for a bit then lifted up his shirt. Emblazoned upon his stomach in a gangland style font were the words ‘Erin Go Bragh’ translated: ‘Ireland Forever’.  I’m not a tattoo guy and find them rather silly. This prompted me to bring up George Carlin’s skit revolving around the subject. That did not sit well with Damien.

“Carlin is a dead old man!” He glowered “And what’s with the fucking hat?!?”

It was at this time Ford decided to make his exit. We had been waiting for our friend Vance to arrive, however he was late as usual.  Ford paid his tab, gave Damien an odd look and headed for the door. Shortly thereafter, Vance strutted in.

He was sporting a wife beater cutoff t-shirt and some type of 80’s muay-thai fighting shorts. He uttered a quick ‘What’s up bro’, sat down, stroked his biceps and ordered a glass of white wine.  Damien had grown oddly silent and had a menacing look in his eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED

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