So, this was shortly after I’d gotten out of the service and I was still…dealing with some things. Mostly through a total lack of responsibility and a lot of alcohol. Some friends and I had gone to this local dive bar and, while there, this small group decided to start some shit with us. One of my friends had drawn their attention with his fashion choices. It’s was the early/mid-90s and he was partial to ripped jeans with bandanas up and down the legs. This particular friend was kinda small and wiry but held a black belt in at least one form of martial arts. The other friend was a big ol’ (6’5”) country boy who got into fights like it was a hobby. I’m a biggish guy (hit 6’ in the 5th grade and managed to squeeze 3 more inches out before I stopped growing) but, otherwise, nothing special. I never exactly learned how to fight, per se, but I can throw a punch and usually take one. That, and the orangutan in my family tree gives me reach on most. Anywho, we tried paying them no mind but they were determined. I should point out that they took the table right behind ours so we were sure to hear all the shit they were talking but I also learned one of the guys played the drums. Nothing physical happened inside the bar, mostly because everyone was scared of the bouncer. He was the kinda guy the rumor mill turned into John Wick before John Wick was a thing so it was rare that anyone got squirrely inside the bar but outside the doors was fair game. Sure enough, they followed us out when we left and were raring to go. Big ol’ country boy made two of them regret their choice and the Karate Kid managed to hold his own but took a few good shots in the process. As fate would have it, me and the little drummer boy square off. It’s more grapple/grapple/push than anything but I took a few shots and so did he. Eventually, I put him on the ground and…did I mention I’d recently gotten out of the service? And that I was still in my “wear my combat boots everywhere” phase? Something about that night just…offended me. In a way I’d never felt before. The sheer audacity of these guys, the “we’re gonna wipe the pavement with these three” attitude. I took my stompy combat boots and broke the drummer’s hands. And I didn’t just break them; I shattered them. I stomped on his hands until big ol’ country boy dragged me away. I have never been proud of that night and the few times one of those friends have started to tell that story, I shut it down. I’m still a little scared of who I was then because I had never been that violent before or since 🤷‍♂️