Felix Blackwell, Charles Millman and me.

There used to be a rock club in my town called the Stadium. They had some pretty good local bands and they weren’t shy about giving new bands a chance to play before a live audience. There were no seats, everyone just milled about wearing white so that they’d glow under the black lights. It was always a good time.

One night I was walking to the Stadium and two guys got off a bus. “Is thus the stop for the Stadium?” Not really, I told them. The Stadium was a fifteen minute walk through down. But, I was going so I said they could walk with me.

The bigger of the two said his name was Felix Blackwell. Of course, I knew it wasn’t but he pulled phony money from his pocket and the bills had his photo and the name Felix Blackwell beneath it. It was night. Felix was wearing sun glasses.

His friend wore a trench coat and a newsboy cap. He couldn’t have been skinnier and he carried an umbrella. It wasn’t raining.

I took them through a parking lot and down an alley. “Puerto Ricans,” said Felix. “Any trouble and you go for their ankles. They’ve got really weak ankles and that’s the only way you can beat them. Well, unless they have knives. Then you can’t beat them.”

I didn’t think there would be trouble I was wrong though. There was trouble and it started immediately. They started taunting us. Me, for my long hair, Millman for his umbrella and Felix for his shades.

The focus shifted to Millman, probably because he was the wimpiest Of we three wimps. They circled him and began pushing him. It was like the Bull in the Ring football drill except that Millman was no bull. He was a lamb. And the slaughter was imminent.

I told Felix that we had to get involved. We had to save his friend. “Don’t worry,” he said. “He may not look it but he can take care of himself.” It was at that moment that one of the guys through Millman through the plate glass window of Central Pharmacy.

With the alarm ringing and the police precinct down the street, the Puerto Rican boys ran off, their skinny ankles carrying them to safety. Millman stood up, casually brushing glass shards from his trench coat and stepped from The windowless storefront. We crossed the street just as a bus arrived. We got on, paid our fare and sat down

Through the back window we saw the police arrive. We were free, though. We’d made our getaway.

We got off the bus at the stop where I’d met Felix and Millman. We walked the same path back to the Stadium, paid our admission at the box office and went in to enjoy the show.

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