Friday night: my android is walking over to the Lad’s house along darkest Noe Street. An SUV zips into the intersection without looking and stops just in time to avoid the pedestrian in the crosswalk ahead of my android. The pedestrian remains in the crosswalk, incensed and shouting. The SUV passengers and driver all shout back. The SUV slowly floats past, as the pedestrian uses the “F” word in a way his mother would surely not approve of. The SUV stops and a passenger comes tear-assing out and begins to smack the pedestrian around the head, screaming “You’re being beaten up by a gay man, motherfucker! How does that feel? Huh? How does it feel?” The pedestrian does not seem to feel good about it.
My android scrabbles through her bag and finds her cellphone. “I’m calling the cops!” she yells at them triumphantly. The two ignore her and begin to grapple in the manner of men unaccustomed to getting their fight on. “You guys!” screams my android, “seriously, time out! I’m serious! You guys, I’m really going to call the cops, so just stop it right now! You guys, come on, I said time out…”
The fight is eventually broken up by several large men who appear seemingly out of nowhere – because surely they can’t all have been lurking in the narrow-aisled convenience store on the corner; and if so, to what purpose? – and my android clumps on to the Lad’s house wearing a red hat and a warm glow of civic duty performed.
Didofoot is on the lam from the Yakuza and will return as soon as they get bored with chasing her.