June 30, 2012
As I stated on Facebook, we just heard what sounded like a quarter stick of dynamite go off outside the studio window. There was a flash that accompanied it, which tells me that it was very close. We all jumped clear out of our seats. I blinked, and I saw Danny get up out of his chair, put his shoes on, grumbling something about, "it's on, dude." He slammed the door, and rushed downstairs. I heard him open the door, and scream "Save it for the fourth, a**hole!" He didn't come back up for several minutes. I opened the window in the studio to listen on on what was going on.
I faintly saw two people standing out in the middle of the street, and I thought I saw a shoving match start, with punches being thrown. It was too dark to see who it was, so I assumed that Danny was one of the guys in the scuffle. About 30 seconds later, Danny came back upstairs, saying, "Well, I hope they are done for tonight. Don't need any more of that going on after 10:00 pm." After that remark, I was pretty sure he wasn't involved in what I saw faintly out the window. I asked him,
"So, did you go over there and give him a piece of your mind? I heard some fighting going on. Was it you?" He shook his head,
"No, that wasn't me, Art. I was annoyed, but not enraged. I was more shaken up than anything! I didn't go into a blind rage. I did call the guy an asshole though, as you probably heard." I nodded,
"Kudos to you for not getting into a fight. Even though you yelled, it could have gotten much worse. I know that in the past, you would have gotten into an altercation of sorts." He laughed, "Yeah, that was someone else's job apparently, not mine. I'm pretty sure he got clocked by the other guy next door. Besides, I'm much too weak to fight right now."
That was an hour ago. I'm still hearing them go off, but they aren't nearly as loud; the air conditioner is covering them up.
"Don't worry, Art," he said, "If it gets out of hand, I can call the cops and make an anonymous call. I have the feeling I won't have to though; someone else probably will do it."
It's amazing; he's not consumed by rage and doesn't want to get into any fights. I'm not sure if he's tired of it, or if the stuff he's learning is beginning to sink in. "You know Art," he began, "I still have to resist the urge to pound someone in the head at times in order to drive the point home, but that's just old ways of thinking that are hard to change. I work every single day to chip away at the stone wall that I've been hiding behind since my mom's passing. Simple it may be; easy it's not." I chuckled at his Yoda paraphrasing.
We sat down and at our midnight pizza snack with chocolate milk.