So I was walkin down the street just thinking about tea time later that day when a man with a folding chair in his hands asked me for some interesting details about the milliner across the way who I knew personally but had never patronized due to the fact that there were no women in my life and I wouldn’t just go in to browse because though we were friends he was really a short tempered fellow who had been in the service and I think exposed to a little too much front line action or sun or something.
Well in any case I relay this information to the fellow with the chair and in his defense I had completely ignored the true nature of his question and he got quite mad and threatened me with the chair but I managed to hold myself steady and hail local passerby to my aid, though when they got there they turned out to be in league with Mr. Chair.
I’ve always wondered where that old expression “when you hit a man with a chair, there tends to be large amounts of blood” comes from and that day I came to realize the true nature of pain while being dealt the harshness from Mr. Chair who I had come to learn had very hard boots and an impatience for people gasping for air and screaming in pain.
Then the devil relents with the chair and in the moment I found myself crawling like a worm toward an open sewer drain into which I planned to coil and hide til my attacker wearied but before I could insert both my arms past the shoulder, he grabbed my foot and withdrew me to the street, his trusty and resilient death-chair glistening in the sunlight.
Unbeknownst to him though I had managed to find a broken off hunk of concrete in the sewer drain that with all my might I brought down upon his left foot, causing the wail of horror to echo around the block-houses and continue again when I brought it down on the right one.
I’ve always wondered where that other old expression “if you smash a man’s feet with chunks of concrete you’ll probably be able to run away” came from and on that day it finally made sense while I gathered myself up and hobbled down the street though the crowd of onlookers while Mr. Chair writhed on the cobblestone, his folding weapon at his side, but to me that hardly mattered because it was nearly tea time.
