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The rush

I went out to buy some noodles. I keep promising myself to stay away from McDonald’s. It is some time after 8, maybe even 9, and I walk down the slope leading to my apartment gate. In front of me to my left I can see Shanghai road and on my right a bar and restaurants. I also see a man throw a woman into a long metal barrier, the kind used to make sure cars stay on the other side of them. The barrier goes down as does the lady. Her long hair flails out and my gut turns in on itself, I feel a rush of adrenaline burn through me and then a switch flips. I get angry very rarely. Annoyed, often, and grumpiness is my new morning face, but I rarely get angry. I think I let a cry or a grunt and go charging down and ahead. My thick shoes don’t get in the way of my sprint. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe tackle, maybe knock the guy down with my shoulder. A chinese man throws himself and pins down a bigger man, leather jacket, bald head and when I see his face, the red tell tale signs of one toast of baijiu too many. The intermediary has one arm out, pleading the girl away. I stand panting hard, waiting for Leather Jacket to stand up. I badly want to knock him down.

The girl is twisting and turning while standing as if her legs burned with fire. Her teeth are bare and she screams out and cries. The top half stained dark with blood. She’s screaming that someone was killed. Wait, the Leather Jacket had killed someone. She breaks off into a run, up and down the road, bursts into the Beijing Duck Restaurant, screaming that someone has died. Around me a crowd of Chinese stand watching. I can’t say that now I was doing any different. Leather Jacket has two Chinese guys standing in front of him. He has his hands on his knees and waits. The fight is out of him. Of course it is, you cowardly fuck. Now there is a crowd of people who would be able to fight back. The girl passes me, her grief no less than before. One guy has his phone out. He is calm and controlled, talking to the police, aware of what is going on around him.

I don’t want to stay. The girl’s grief is too much for me. Waves and waves pouring out and threatening to take me down. I walk away, passing by the bar, people inside drinking and playing pool, unaware of what took place. The Beijing Duck restaurant, customers and staff with curious smiles on their faces. I don’t want any of this. I sit on my sofa. I can’t get her screams out of my bed.

My noodles have no taste. I throw them away, as well as my hunger.

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