“I don’t wanna fight, man.” Vernon looked at the slick-haired, expensive-clothed man standing in his personal space. The crowded bar was dim and modern, as slick as the man’s hair.
“And I didn’t want your fucking beer all over my pants. We both get to be disappointed. Outside!” Vernon shrugged and headed for the parking lot. His friends begged him to ignore the bully, but they followed. The bully’s friends came too, enthusiastic.
The two groups formed a circle on the sidewalk, Vernon and his opponent in the middle. Vernon shrugged off his jacket. “That’s right,” said the other man. “Time to do this.” He handed his jacket to one of his jeering friends. Vernon unbuttoned his cuffs. “Yeah, okay.” The bully rolled up his sleeves, then frowned when Vernon took off his shirt.
“What are you doing, man?”
“Getting ready to fight.” Vernon slipped off his shoes and unbuckled his belt.
“Stop it, freak. Let’s go!”
“Not ’till I’m ready.” Vernon stepped out of his pants. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband.
The man flinched. “Fuck this freak! Let’s go!” He and his friends left, hurling insults behind them.
“And that’s how you win a fight,” Vernon said.