“Oooh baby! Can I get some fries with that shake?”
The construction worker’s catcall tears through your brain like a warm chainsaw through melted butter, snapping the last of whatever nerves controlled your self-restraint. You take off at a dead sprint towards the loud-mouthed laborer, your shoes flying off onto the sidewalk behind you.
The catcaller’s vest and hardhat are orange, but they may as well be a red cape as you dip low, charging at him like an angry bull. You catch him at the hips and drive through, taking him to the ground in a tackle that would make William Perry proud.
You stand quickly, using his face to balance as you right yourself. “No,” you say as you step back between his legs, “and you can’t get any ass with thiskick either!”
Your bare right foot rears back and powers forward, striking home in the softness of his testicles. A strained, breathless squeak escapes from his throat as he grabs what is left of his manliness and turns to the fetal position.
You return to the sidewalk and recover your shoes, then leave the scene. Later, for lunch, you go to McDonald’s and order a shake and fries.