Talk to Nice Sleep.

I saw the fist coming, but I'm no fighter.

I've watched a lot of movies, sure, so I know all the moves.

I can describe them easily.

Block, duck, shift leg, sweep the leg, all that shit.

But when faced with the guy a few inches taller, and with a whole lot more muscle,

all the film knowledge in the world is useless.

My only muscle memory is pressing play on the remote, not blocking a jab straight to my nose.

The pain hits hard and fast, and I double over instantly, both hands covering my face.

You motherfucker!

I shout, blood pouring from my nose and onto the sidewalk. It's a light-colored concrete, so they're going to have to sand the stain out.

Soap and water won't cut it with the amount of blood splattering at my feet.

What the fuck? Talk to her again, and I'll fucking take an eye asshole.

The taller and stronger guy snarls.

His arms are long enough that he didn't even have to step

over the cafe's rope partition to nail me. My fault, really. I got too close, said the wrong

thing, and didn't retreat fast enough. Do I deserve a broken nose? Hell no. All I wanted to do

was say hello to Adrian and go about my day. I wasn't going to harass her or say anything nasty.

I'm past all that.

Yet, I still got a broken nose for my trouble.

Josh, you know you can't come within 100 feet of me.

Adrian says from her seat at the cafe table.

...