Little Dave is a very small man who takes the morning bus into the city with me. Last month he was threatened and attacked by a young black fellow, successfully fought back and was then pulled off by his antagonist's friend. Two weeks ago the young "hopper" came by and threatened Dave, pulling a knife on him. Dave used threatening words to ward him off. This morning I asked Dave how it has been at his second bus stop.
The spit and punch was Round One.
The knife was Round Two.
Round Three was him coming back and talking shit, cussing me and then moving on. No knife, no spitting, no friend.
Round Four he walks by with the hard eye—giving me the evil eye.
Round Five—there was no Round Five. We walked up to me, said, "Hey, you got heart, you ain't afraid," and he shakes my hand, a truce, I suppose.
Now, he just walks by and waves good morning, headed to his corner to hangout, go do what he does. So I wave back.
Rubbing Out Palefaces
Moral Minority Survival at the End of Caucasian Time Paperback
I suppose Dave is doing the right thing.
Certainly the temptation would be to say "Don't give me your shit, you little burr-head, I don't need your hand or anything about you, stay out of my face."
Hopper acts like he's paying Little Dave some sort of compliment. Screw him. He's never going to be your friend.
But Little Dave is the man on the ground, and whatever he does is the right thing, in my book.