Near Trash Night Calamity
Nish and I live on a first floor apartment in a small building of only five units. When I take out the trash I tend to walk out to our front door and just heave the bag(s) from the doorway to the pavement. I was in the process of such a maneuver tonight, when I narrowly averted disaster.
Right before I was going to release the bag of refuse and send it on its short arc through the chill air to the curb, I saw someone sprinting down the icy sidewalk on a vector that would certainly intersect the bag's path. I was able to hold my grip, and keep from slamming a bag of shitty-smelling trash into the face of the person running with such speed down such a precarious walkway.
Immediately following this sprinter, who looked about 14 to me, was his friend of the same age. At first I thought they were just joking around, but then after a brief gap there came a third party into this garbage night commotion. It was a middle-aged man running after the two boys, a belt in his right hand and a ball of icy snow in his left, howling "You better run, pussies! Run because I gonna kill you!" in a thick Italian accent. In addition to his vulgar English, he also spat vituperative Italian at his quarry as he sprinted past me--so close he almost hit the trash bag still hanging from my hand.
I stood there in the doorway, wearing only my pajamas, and watched the pursuit fly by at an astonishing speed considering the condition of the ground. When it had passed, I tossed my bag of trash down onto the sidewalk and walked back inside to the echos of the man, still screaming, "Run, fuckers, run!".
Such is life in the North End.