The calm in the small to tiny room was unsettling. Two strangers with opposite agendas standing face to face. Erratic breathing, one from a deviated septum, it is whimsical like rattling blinds in a windowless room. Not a word had been spoken, which is typical boneheaded behavior for men, and this only heightened the tension.
It was then that Hugh felt a stabbing pain in his face, just behind his left eye. It was a familiar stab, the last time he experienced it was from rush hour driving for two and a half hours on a trip that usually took twenty minutes. No one should ever glare that long.
Miguel winced knowingly. The moment was his.
Sadly, had they put aside their deception of posing as silent-types, they might have discovered their mutual appreciation for 1970’s kung-fu comic books, post-ironic hip hop, the first two seasons of Mr. Ed, fishing with their respective grandfathers, gurney blooper videos, medium rare meats, their disdain for Chipotles™, and the guilt for never saying goodbye properly to their deceased mothers.
Instead, Hugh and Miguel circled each other like wolves around fresh meat. In moments, they will savagely thrash each other within inches of their lives. Lots of sloppy punches, broken bones, blood splattering, groans, embarrassing loss of urinary control and some adult crying. SPOILER ALERT: Hugh dies.
