"Plus, the guy is gay."

PART I:

Just before 2:00 a.m.: 

A tall attractive guy (maybe 25 or so) comes in to buy a six pack of Coors. Although it’s cold out, his brown jacket is completely open and unbuttoned in the front and he is not wearing a shirt underneath. He strikes me as a bit cocky. As I ring up his beer I ask, “How’s your night going?”
 
“Not so good,” he says. “My shoulder hurts.” He explains that he got in a fight at a party with a “small kid.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” he says, “but he kept coming after me. So I grabbed him and held down his arms, but he struggled and we both fell to the ground and that's how I hurt my shoulder.”

“Kind of like a little kitten?” I ask. “Playfully biting and scratching too hard so you want to hold it down but not hurt it?”
“Exactly!” he says. “Plus, the guy is gay.”
“What does that have to do with it?” I ask.
 “Well . . . you know . . . not much of a fighter, you know?” he says.
“I don’t know if I follow you on that one,” I say.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“How do you know he is gay?” I ask.
“Well . . . you know . . . you can tell. You know what I mean?”
“I don’t,” I say. “I don’t think you can always tell. You never know for sure.”

Again he shrugs his shoulders.

He is a very animated talker, moving his hands and lifting his arms a lot as he tells me the story. Every time he moves his arms his coat opens up a bit, exposing his tone, solid, well-defined chest and abs. He has a sexy body. I can’t help but notice. I can’t help but look. I can't help but gawk a bit.
 
“You just never know,” I say. “You just never know . . .” 


PART II:

About 4:30 a.m.: 

A young guy comes in to use the cash machine and buy a few snacks.

“Good morning, how are you?” I ask.
“Not so good,” he says. “I just got back from the hospital.”   
“Oh, sorry to hear,” I say. “I hope it’s not too serious.”   
“It’s not,” he says. “They thought I might have a concussion but I don’t.”  
 “Well, that’s good," I say. "What happened?”   
“Oh, I got in a fight. A guy suckered punched me at a party.”   
“Was he by chance wearing a brown jacket with no shirt underneath?” I ask.   
“Yeah, that’s the guy,” he says, surprised. “How did you know that?”
 
I tell him the story. Then I hear his version: He was at a party when the brown-jacket-shirtless-guy walks up and sucker punches him. He apparently held a strong grudge from their high school days three years prior. I believe him. He’s a nice guy.

“I am curious,” I ask. “Are you by chance gay?”
“No, I’m not,” he says. “Why do you ask? What does that have to do with it?”

I explain. He laughs.

“Even if I were,” he says, “how would he know?”
“I agree,” I say. “You just never know.”