>>55841220So Cholo gathers up his friends, and I wave a few of mine over, and we all make our way to the restroom and shoo out the spectators. We agree to a gentleman's duel: no one stops until someone taps. Cholo kisses his precious fucking cross, and me, I just stand there with my arms at my side and wait. The circle gets drawn, and the fight starts. I get a good few swings in at his chin and cheeks before this five-foot-nothing blowhard drops low, wraps his arms around my waist, and hoists me up into the air while I continue to hammer away at his head. The first tackle slams me against the bathroom wall. The next tackle slams me against the hand dryer. Don't feel bad, he hit himself with that more than he did me. The next tackle spins us around and sends us sailing through a closed bathroom stall, knocking the door right out of its hinges as we fall to the ground. Evidently, some fucking prankster had locked it and then crawled out from below. Cholo lands on top of me, pins me to the ground, and wraps both hands tight around my throat. It's at this point that I begin to realize I'm in too deep. I reach up and grab for his necklace.
I would like to say I had some 300-IQ plan to distract him so I could pull off my epic turnaround, but the truth is, I just wanted to hurt him in the only way I could.
I yank the crucifix from his neck, sending gaudy beads scattering across the bathroom floor before I reach over, drop the necklace in the toilet, and pull the lever. Then and only then do I tap. Cholo's buddies step in to pull him off of me. One of them even helps me to my feet. And, without a single word spoken, we all walk out of the bathroom. I take my place at the bar, and the cholos take their places right next to me, louder than before yet no worse for wear.
Anyways, that's about the closest I've got to dying stateside. Good times.