I hear them before I see them. Through the crowds I make out a couple arguing, passers-by giving them a wide berth and pretending not to notice them.
“You slept with that bitch!”, she screams at him. She is petite, while her (presumably former) beau is much bigger and well-set, both dressed smartly and not where you’d expect such disquiet to come from.
He tries to plead his case, tells her it meant nothing, that she came on to him, but she is relentless. She starts to jab at his chest and with little else left in his arsenal he raises his fist to punch the woman in the face.
But the car behind me sounds his horn. I raise my hand sheepishly and slowly pull away from the traffic lights, already putting both embarrassments firmly behind me.
Nathan Spong is a spasmodic writer with articles published both online and in print, all of which are published under a variety of pseudonyms. He writes more stories in his head than are committed to paper, and has turned procrastination into an Olympic discipline.