Fast Fuse

On the way back from the store room today I took the ‘inside-the-shopping-center’ route, just for the sake of it.

As I ascended the escalator flanked by the main food court and an entrance, I noticed a bunch of Western Oriental Gentlemen(s) standing next to the gold fence looking down through the hole in the floor at the level below. Really bad description yes, but let’s just pretend I am on the escalator looking up, and 30m away I see a bunch of WOGs looking suspicious.

Three-quarters of the way to the top, I still have my eyes fixated on this group. A voice is raised to its resonant loudest, seriously attracting the attention of everyone. The same speechmaker raises a right fist to its optimal punching position and with a swift two steps right connects with the side of a man’s head. A fracturing click is heard as contact is made and I speed off while others converge to spectate.

Two minutes later, back at work, a couple comes around and asks for a serviette. Unflinching, as this usual request is often met with a cheap internal sigh, I scurried the nearest serviette. The girlfriend takes, and passes to the exasperated boyfriend, who accepts it by opening a bloodied hand. Hospital is needed, not the nearest cafe for a serviette.

Yes very disjointed blog post…