“Honey, your gonna have to help me out here.” Mary said, as she struggled to maintain her balance, dragging Frank out of the bar and onto the street.

“You wuldent a downsezed me, wuld ya Mary?” Frank slurred, his breath reeking of beer and self pity.

“No. I woulda made sure you got what you needed, just like I always do.” Mary missed the guy she knew years ago, the bloody fisted, “I’m gonna kick that shit eating grin off your face” Frank.

“What are you gonna do about it? You gonna let ‘em get away with it Frank?” Mary wanted to see blood; she was craving a good fight.

“I gonna, I, I….” Frank looked confused. He shook his head and pulled out of Mary’s grip. He stumbled to the left, righted himself, tried to stand steady, straightened his back and widened his stance. Frank shut his eyes tight, and opened them again to the night. It was dark on the street, but not near as dark as his imagination, not even approaching the shade of black that he would paint himself later that night.