This is across from Saint Benedicts, across from where the narcs bet me up. I was in there after work. I think it was on a Friday and I ran into these whiggers—windus if you will. It was two brothers and a third, I didn’t know, who was there with them. I knew them for a long time, since I was a kid. Different things over the years, nothing violent, but then we get into an argument. Me and the one brother stood up and we were getting ready to fight at the bar and the owner comes out with a baseball bat and smacks the bar and sais, “This shit isn’t going down in my bar! Get the fuck out!”

He was known for doing this shit.

We left. I backed out the side door, keeping an eye on them. The one brother come out with a beer bottle. They all came out the side door.

I’m parked right there, same side of street. I could fall out the door and fall into the cab. When you plan on getting drunk, the closer [you park] the better.

I had my back to the bar [side of the building].

The friend and the brother with the bottle are in the street in front of the truck.

The guy is on the side walk facing me—the guy I had the problem with.

There was a couple of words, but we all come out there for a reason, a little bit of shit-talking. I wanted to play with this guy, clown him a little bit. Life is too short to be too serious.

Lead guy, six foot, solid. Stocky whigger, tattoos just out of prison, eating state food and lifting weights type of build. A lot of these guys in the city go to prison to get healthy.

His brother, similar size. Skinnier. He hadn’t been in the joint, ripping and burning up and down Wilkens Avenue.

The other guy, he looked like so many people you see around here, all tattted up probably five-eight, five-nine. Him I didn’t know.

He starts throwing some punches. Street-type haymaker.

I could have let him hit me. I was playing a little bit, sipping and slapping. I check his chin with a right hand and I come around and grab his shoulders and pull back and trip his legs behind him and throw him to the ground.

I skipped his feet. [hooked above the foot]

This is like a cross-ankle thrown—something my father taught me, a backheel cross-ankle. He goes down but hops back up. I was drunk and having fun at this point.

He throws a right hand and I cover up and grab his shirt and spin him around and smash him face-first into the concrete. He hit the ground pretty good.

I brought a stomp on his head, all 220 pounds. I jumped on his head. He didn’t go out, but it hurt him. I dropped in all of my weight right through his head. He was hurt.

At this point I’m thinking I need to shut this show down.

The brother throws his beer bottle at my head and I slip it and I remember hearing it shatter behind my head—very vivid and I was like, “You muthafucka and I went over and grabbed the t-square from the bed of the truck.

The T—square is forty-eight inches. I’m holding it like I’m ready to start scything some weeds. We played with these things on the job. You wouldn’t believe how many guys on construction sites play around with tools as weapons. They know they can snuff some people out with tools. Leave it to the working man, he’ll find a way. It is made from an aluminum blade, forty-eight inches long, two inches wide, three-sixteenths thick. The top part, the T is twenty four inches. All those measurements mean something. This s an aluminum pole axe. See the accompanying photo.

The one whigger I didn’t know said, ‘I don’t want any trouble.”

I told him, “I wanna kill you.”

It gets a tad bit worse and I realize where I’m coming apart here.

This guy backs off, takes off maybe all the way.

The brother is tending his brother that I stomped on the head and I’m advancing at him and he said, “You threw a fuckin’ bottle at my head,” and he said, “Well, you were killing my brother.”

And that’s when I knew I was in the wrong.

I had that T-square—would have killed him. I had become too much of the aggressor. So I hopped in my truck and got out of there. I had become too much of the bad guy. I’m an empathetic person. What would I have did if someone was stomping on my brother’s head.