Ah. When I first moved out to UT from Philly, I still had a nice chip on my shoulder. I've mellowed since. I lived in a pretty ethnicnally diverse part of town *read: el lotta los mexicans* and had just learned the meaning of the word gabacho (Cracka ass cracka). So, I go to the store, come out, and there was a pickup sitting behind my car. I unlock it, look at the driver, who looked like he was waiting for someone to come out, and nodded; meaning I'm backing up now. Get in, put it in reverse, he sits there. I stand up and waived, he looked at me, glared, and looked forward again. I went to his window and asked him impolitely to back the fuck up so I could get out. He said shut up pinche gabacho. He slammed the door open on me, I pulled him out and pounded him. His friend got out and hit the back of my head, I fell, we wrestled, I got on top and was hitting his head against the blacktop. Last thing I remember was pushing on his eye, asking him, why they made me do this. Then I was out. Came to and I was in cuffs, propped against a police car waiting for an ambulance. A cop saw us fighting and apparently did a flying tackle smashing my head against the truck. Witnesses in the parking lot told the cop I acted in self defense, I got checked by the paramedics, and was told I was free to go. Mild concussion, groceries went bad because it's hotter than hell here in the summer, and my car ran out of gas because it was left running the whole time. I haven't fought in eight years.