A seventy-eight year old man bringing a knife to fight a forty-two year old

“I think you’re crazy,” Elenore said. “To bring a knife with you! Are you mad?”

Semore glared back at her. “I’m not paying him another dollar. That man is a menace and he needs to be taught a lesson.”

His wife, Elenore, rubbed the wrinkles into her forehead. “Dear-dear-dear. A seventy-eight year old man bringing a knife to fight a forty-two year old. Whatever happened to golf?”

“I hate golf,” said Semore.

Elenore scoffed.

The longly-wed couple returned to the coffee shop.

“Hey,” said Semore. “I paid for that coffee. I remember.”

The employee shook his head. “No sir, you didn’t. And I’m pretty sure your memory is not the best source. Give me a dollar, and I’ll give you your drink.”

“NO!” said Semore, slamming his fist down into the counter. Everyone around noticed the knife and gasped. “Give me my coffee! I paid for it.”

The employee laughed. “Wow. This is really something, you brought a knife.”

“Damn right I brought a knife, and it’ll be your neck that gets it!”

“Alright, I’ve had it.” He picked up the phone.

“What are you doing?” said Elenore.

“I’m calling the police.”

“Call ’em!” said Semore. “Then pass the phone over to me, so they can arrest you!”

Elenore slapped her husband’s wrist. “Dear! You can’t go to prison! What will you do?”

“I can handle myself dear. I’m going nowhere until he gets me that coffee!”

“Hello, police?” said the employee. “Yeah I got some guy in here creating a disturbance.”

“Semore! Stop this madness!”

Gripping the handle of his blade, Semore flared out his nostrils, then cocked his fist back and threw a punch. He hit the employee square in the nose.

“Dammit! I’m bleeding you idiot!”

“Serves you right!” said Semore.

“Send an officer, he just punched me!”

Finally, a teenager waiting in line with a skateboard slammed a dollar bill down on the counter. “There you go, old man. Quit grumbling.”

Semore and the employee both met eyes until Semore ripped a recently brewed cup-of-something and started away. “There, we’re even.”

“No we’re not!”

Once outside, Semore and Elenore bumped into a hasty officer.

“There a mugging going on in there?”

“Yeah,” said Semore. “Some young punk threatened violence with his skateboard.”

“I’ll get right on it, have a nice day.” The officer tipped his cap and disappeared into the coffee shop.

Elenore took Semore’s arm and smiled.

“What?” said Semore.

“I love you,” she said.

Semore sipped his drink. “Taste like shit.” He tossed the cup to the curb and it spilled into the gutter.

“Semore!”

He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Love you too dear.”

THE END

– Thomas M. Watt

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