“Get your face out of my way, punk!” I bawled shoving him down with an aggressive blow.
“Sorry sir,” muttered the young kid as he staggered back up to his feet, and went tearing through the dark alleyway.
“Get back here, you little rat!” I screamed as I went chasing after him down the street. When I was less than two feet away, I went in for the kill and tackled him. He went down like a rock, his body shaking all over, blood trickled down his face. Tears ran down his cheeks as I checked his pockets for money. Nothing. With one final blow of anger, I stormed off.
I hadn’t even gotten 20 ft away when a sickening feeling got the best of me; I felt like I was going to barf, but not puke; sins. It took control of my mind and body, turned me around, and walked me in the direction of the young kid. Scooping him gently in my arms, I softly apologized and asked him where he lived.
That was many years ago and, today, I’m proud to say I will be standing by him as his best man when he marries the girl of his dreams.
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