I went down to the Hawaiian cafe after work on Friday night, as I usually do.
I sat down on the same wooden stool, ordered the usual plate, the "special" sandwich, courtesy of the cook.
And the same old glass of whiskey mixed with lemon and a shot of tequila; the bartender by then had memorized how I liked it.
The bar by then knew my routine.
I sat on my usual spot, the corner table near the window, it granted me a hint of fresh air, and a complementary view of the moon's reflection on the harbor; it also gave me a full view of the place and a front row seat to the stage of drunks fighting over the pool table.
The young brunette waitress with the romantic Spanish accent came by and placed the week's newspaper on the table, as she always did.
I took a bite of the sandwich, getting a bit of ham and avocado between my teeth, the bar didn't have avocado in the menu, but the cook was good at remembering who placed a few bills in the tip jar.
Finally curiosity got to me and I reached for the newspaper, silencing out anything out of my view, slowly reaching complete tranquility.
But a loud tud on the door and giant footsteps on the wooden creaking floor brought me back from trying to solve this week's ****** stamped on the front cover. A tall, fat, bald, typical, drunk guy in his thirties, maybe forties, walked in and sat by the bar area, promptly scaring away all of the new folks.
The bald man made it a point to prove he was the meanest dog in the pound, but he was too drunk to think, he must've already been drinking on his way here, and what he had for muscle in his brain he'd given it up for muscle in his arms.
He caught me glancing at him as I flipped the page, and by the character he carried it was clear he despised eye contact.
Still, I went on reading through the countless of murders and disappearances this shady town had daily, until I reached the last line and flipped to the next ******.
And to no surprise, there were his eyes, still locked in mine; without turning he asked the bartender for two shots, one for him, and one for the man with the newspaper.
Again came the radiant waitress with the glass, which I raised as a form of thanking him, and kept on reading, taking one more bite of that delicious sandwich.
Once more did the waitress return, with yet another shot, it was clear it was a challenge, but I'm not a much of a fighter, never been.
Still, it would've been dishonorable to deny his offer, so once more I poured one down.
"Keep it coming", yelled the tall drunk, and knowing how greedy the bartender was, I knew he'd abide.
They kept coming shot after shot, seems though we were playing till one passed out, or vomited.
I grabbed yet another glass, but using the cover the newspaper provided, I let the harbor take the shots, and as he kept them coming, I kept them going, but in a match against the seas, the seas always win.
Right after the tenth shot it seemed he got tired or was out of bills, so he walked towards me with a "dos equis" in his right hand, almost staggering my way.
"Do you think you're better than me?" he yelled through the smell of liquor in his mouth.
I took a bite of my sandwich and handed that gorgeous waitress the glasses back, I'm sure this place couldn't afford replacing broken glassware.
My silence angered him more than any insult I could've thrown at him, "Who do you think you are staring me down?" Once more he shouted, alerting the cook it was time to hide the knives.
He grabbed the newspaper from the side of the table and crumbled it, flinging it behind him, "Are you mute or are you stupid?" He mocked.
Still, I wasn't finished with my sandwich, so I took another bite and drank some more, threatened he chugged the rest of the bottle, trying to prove he could still outdrink me.
It was clear he was worse for wear, so I just watched the clock above the doorway, it was around the time the drunks began dragging themselves home; even the waitress was drinking away with the loners in the back table; while the morning risers began a new poker round; the bartender sat on a stool drinking his loneliness away with the rest of the factory workers:
Meanwhile I was dealing with this brute.
"You got one last chance to speak up!" Barked the drunk giant, clearly fading away.
I took a final bite out of my sandwich, washing it down with the last drop of whiskey.
Pushing the stool back I stood up and vowed heads with the cook, symbolizing I'd be back next week.
Walking past him I padded the now passed out bartender, probably my only friend; the only man that knew me better than my father.
The bald giant followed, blocking the door way, forcing me to at last acknowledge him, all eyes met in our direction, awaiting entertainment.
I placed my hands in my jacket pockets, he grinned.
With the bottle still in his hand, he smashed it against the wall, probably trying to use it as a weapon; but he made a big, bad, dumb, drunk, mistake, his face was far too close to the ricocheting shards, and the mighty giant fell and passed out covering his eyes.
The waitress reached for the wall phone and dialed an ambulance, so I walked out and went for a swim, after all, I had to congratulate the sea for such a victory!