No harm, no foul
“No harm, no foul,” the bouncer said as his fist squarely connected with my stomach.
I doubled over in pain.
“That sure felt like it harmed me,” I said, noticing in the corner of my eye that my date was walking back to her car without me.
The hulking mass of muscle and rage readjusted my overbite with his next punch.
“Punching me isn’t going to make me any more able to pay for that vodka and diet Sprite my date ordered,” I pleaded.
The bouncer laughed.
“That’s what YOU ordered, son,” he said. “I know you can’t pay. I’m just beating the shit out of you because it’s fun.”
I spit blood.
“Is it fun when I do this?” I asked triumphantly as I cocked my arm back to punch him and instead took out my cell phone to call my mom.
