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  • Brian D. Hinson

The Cold and the Punch

We were on a mission to pick up someone locked out in the cold at two in the morning. The guy got in and explained the situation. “My girlfriend locked herself out of her apartment and we need to get her back to my place.”


We arrive at the apartment building, a single-story row of six apartments. There she is, in a long, red dress straight from the club and trying to get in through her window. She’s making zero progress. The man goes out to her, and I can see there’s an argument. I’m in the car with the heater on, I can’t make out any words. Apparently, she’s still drunk AF from her night out and she doesn’t want to go anywhere. She wants inside her place, nowhere else.


By body language, I can tell he’s pleading, she’s defiant, determined. He places a hand on her upper arm and she punches him in the face.


I tense at the sudden level-up in the confrontation. I wait and watch, ready to hit 911.


He’s mad; he does some finger-pointing, some gesturing to the warm car. She’s having none of it.


He walks back to my car. “She can fuckin’ freeze out there.”


“Okay. We leavin’?”


“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

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