Dry Your Tears the Policeman Said

I had just pulled a car up, and was waiting for the owner to come out of the restaurant. Instead, two gentlemen came out arguing.  One was a short white man in a pea coat, with blond hair beibered to his head.  The other was a tall Somali man in a puffy orange coat with a helmet like shock of curly hair on his head.

“Give me my fucking phone.” The white man aggressively yelled at the Somali man.  He was at least five inches shorter and 40 pounds lighter than the man he was pushing up against the wall of the restaurant.

“I don’t have your phone … get out of my face.”

The short guy jumped up and kicked the Somali man in the stomach, but not with much force.  It only seemed to annoy the other man.

“Guys, what the hell are you doing?”  I shouted at them.

The short man turned to me, “He stole my phone!”

“Do you want me to call the cops?” I asked.

“No.”  This seemed to touch a fear in the short man.  He drew into himself, somehow shrinking inward protectively, kind of like Gollum.  The Somali man took the opportunity to walk away.  In a quick and lively rage, the short man tried to throw a punch, but couldn’t land it.  The Somali man was so irritated that he finally threw the short man to the ground.

The restaurant manager had already called the police while he watched through the window, and now came out to see what the hell was going on.  The Somali man had wandered off across the street and out of sight, while the little man paced and mumbled to himself.  When the manager asked the short man if he was okay, he began crying and babbling, not making much sense.

A couple came out around this time and took their car, looking confused as the man bawled near the entrance of the restaurant.  Behind them was another customer with his ticket in hand, so I ran off to get the next car.

When I came back, one of our tall propane heaters was tipped over and the top was crumpled.

The manager went inside to grab the crying man a bottle of water.  He thought it would help him get over whatever drug he took, but with water in hand, heard a tremendous crash.  Once outside, he found the seven-foot heater tipped over.  Confused, he asked the man what happened, “I was really mad, so I tackled it.”

This is when the cops arrived to help wipe away the tears, “Get him out of my sight” the manager told the police, “and get his information, I want him to pay for the damage.”  This is when we found out he was homeless.  They were on a first name basis with the little sniveler, and took him for a familiar ride.

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