I wish I was there wen those guys rolled up on P. Its easier for two people to talk to a group of refugees than it it is to be a lone soldier. The idea of beating the fuck out of them, is definitely an exhilarating thought, full of adrenaline and power. At first, we’d be the nice guys who the audience is rooting for. But then, the refs take it too far, and all the feelings inside me, the guilt, the worry, and the anxiety, transforms into an unstoppable rage, ready to destroy these idiots. In a single moment, I start decking all these guys and they all run at a me. I feel their faces smash against my knuckles as I knock them out, one by one. Eventually some of them back off, looking scared as shit. Me and P walk away, heroes of the day.

They would retaliate eventually. Never ending cycle. Building management would have seen us, and called the cops. What if we lost? What if they out numbered me, got me on the ground, stomped on my knee and I became crippled? What if I got expelled from uni because of charges? Or even if they left a scar on my face, and I had to explain it to my parents, what would I say? In the fantasy, you always win and everything ends up okay, but in real life there are consequences for your actions.

Now lets say we don’t do anything back. We look like pussies. The end. And who thinks we’re pussies? A bunch of illogical, useless, inconsiderate dumbassses. Who cares what those guys think. Lmao, actually thats the funniest part. Why the hell would I give a fuck about what some random fags think of me? Lets say they talk shit about me to other people — I don’t care because I can gain respect faster than they can spread rumors. If I think otherwise, then indeed I am a pussy.


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