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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 65
“Tis’ a fierce one!” Remarked the whore-lapped brute, and
laughed.

“I wanna see how good ye are! There’s even coin to be made
if you can beat me,” said the man behind my back.
“Very well,” I resolved, as I got up and turned around. I’ll beat
him senseless, get paid and get some respect for once in my
life.
He was a bit taller than me, and clearly stockier. His hard face
hinted that this wasn’t to be his first brawl, and he showed no
trace of fear. My stance was more feral as I leaned forward like
a predatory beast. The patrons around were taking wagers. I

turned my attention to him fully and we locked eyes. He raised
his hands to protect his face and I did likewise. Then out of the
blue, I kicked him in the groin, felling him. All those Angles and
Saxons — they’re quite big and strong, but they don’t kick or
know how to defend themselves against lower body blows. And
the Albions, they’re just miniature wimps. As he grabbed his
crotch I turned back, a very content smile on my face, and sat

down. The patrons at the table all cheered and laughed. The
whore winked at me, silently promising something I didn’t care
to sample, even though I was a virgin. I knew I had humiliated
him, but it served him right for trying to pick a fight just to see
who’s stronger. I took up my cards again, pretending to be at
ease, and watched his shadow carefully.
As my adversary arose from the floor, trying to gather whatever
dignity he had left and retaliate against my dishonorable blow,
I elbowed him again in the groin before he managed to strike,

felling him to the floor once more, and winning yet another
round of applause from my audience. He was carried outside
by his friends and I had coin with which to wager.
Later that night my new-found buddies retired one by one to