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  • Brian D. Hinson

Albuquerque Girl Fight Night


When she got into the car, I did a double-take. It was 2:20 in the morning in downtown Albuquerque and the streetlights were casting more shadows than light in the car interior. But my first impression had been correct: This girl’s face was scraped up, like she’d been dragged across the sidewalk and kicked a couple of times. Dried blood crusted her forehead and cheeks. There was another girl with her, head down, softly talking into her phone.


Fight girl introduced herself as Gab, and said, “I just got my ass kicked, and I’m ready to go home.” Her tone was surprisingly upbeat. Whatever had happened was done with. It was a shit night in Albuquerque, now it was time to go.


“Are you okay?”


“Yeah. My shoulder hurts.”


“You need to see a doctor or something?”


“Nah.”


We drove off, south on 4th street down to Coal, away from the crowds spilling out into the streets from the closing bars and clubs.


Gab looked and acted a bit tomboyish and was definitely still in the grip of an alcohol-fueled evening. She worried that she was still bleeding. I told her that it didn’t look like it. Gab told me that she threw the first punch and missed, then said she landed the first few and her next swing missed, and the story morphed into her defending herself first.

I asked how it all started.


“Because I like pussy.”


“So…someone wanted to fight you because you like pussy?”


“Well…I don’t know.”


No clear picture formed of this recent violence.


The girl on the phone ended her conversation and laid her head on Gab’s shoulder. Gab’s girlfriend didn’t look like the altercation involved her at all, at least not physically. Unlike Gab, she looked delicate. She closed her eyes as she leaned on Gab, relieved that this business was over.


As they walked up the driveway at the destination address, I told Gab that tomorrow would be better.


“Yeah, it always is,” she replied.

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