John picked me up last night to get a drink. Most the bars in Columbus would be closed for Thanksgiving, but Byrnes would not. It tends to draw in a crowd that are back from family and want a drink or those without family and need a drink. It was 9:00pm.

We pulled out of my allotment and turned to hit the main road. I called Josh to see if he wanted to join us. He didn’t answer so I began to leave him a message.

There are two gas stations on the corner of the main road and a woman was standing on the corner to our right. She was pretty and nicely dressed. The light was red so we got to watch what happened next.

I immediately thought the woman was out begging for money. I’d seen this tactic before, even from well dressed people that don’t fit the off ramp beggar stereotype. I mentioned this on my message to Josh in a kind of play by play. She walked back to a van that pulled up just behind in the lane next to us. It was the white, industrial van with lettering on the door advertising a fix-it business. The driver was on his cell phone. I thought she was going to knock on the window, but instead she opened the door of the van and hopped in. She must have been waiting for a ride.

The driver leaned over and punched her.

Or at least he tried. It was hard for him to lean all the way over and get a good blow in. She spun with her back to the door and blocked the second punch with her legs. She started to kick back. The driver now was blocking her kicks with both hands and trying to hit her back. He never dropped the cell phone. As all this escalated, I continued to describe it in the message. Even the name of the company and the phone number on the side of the van.

The light switched to green and we turned left. I could see the van rocking back and forth as it got smaller and smaller in the distance. I hung up the phone.

Josh called me back a few minutes later and said, “What the fuck was up with that message?” I said it was what it was… a play by play of a fight at a stop light. He said I sounded like the reporter at the Hindenburg catastrophe. I thought I had my shit together better than that.

We sat at the bar and drank pints of beer. We laughed and told stories and talked about a zombie movie script.

Later, John drove me home. We passed the corner where the woman had been waiting for her ride. There was nothing there to prove what we saw had ever happened.

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