Birds

I was itching my knuckles Friday, pondering the symbolism was. When my left palm itches, I come into money. Knuckles I was guessing was a fight.

Sitting here with scraped knees, raw arms and a jambed pinky from wrestling with my friend in the Army I can now look back and say, "yea, i was right" for once.

Walking home yesterday afternoon he confronted a guy wearing camo. He asked him why he wore it if he didn't serve. The guy talked about colors. My friend asked him why he didn't do something with those colors like join up. He got in his face and told him that he earn the scars on his face, that he watched his friends blow up and die in front of him. That those are real colors.

The guy took off his shirt.

Another member of his posse started talking shit, flashing gang signs and walking away fast. My friend followed him three blocks. There were seven of them and four of us. In the midst of it, one of their number turned to me and asked, "So how's ya'll's day goin'??"

Finally he caught up with the guy. The guy picked up a chunk of cement and got it smacked out of his hand. Then he picked up a chair from a nearby patio and was gonna throw it. My friend smacked and broke his glasses off his face. It spilled out into traffic. My other friend stopped traffic.

I'm not a fighter and don't find myself in this position often. The other night thoughts of how much of a pussy I feel like and what my dad thinks of me. My brother is the fighter. I've never seen much merit in it. Only a few times have I felt the need. I worried that my woman doesn't think I can protect her. Being so close to it, I didn't know how it was going to come out. Cops, bail, stitches. Eventually the guy ran away.

Going home to make soap. "With enough soap, we can blow up just about anything."

On the way over here I saw a weird rock. It looked like one rock was growing out of another. I was going to watch the whole process, but that would've taken forever.