Brian Dylan

After a night on the town, I strolled up the streets of Auckland.  There’s a particularly dense section of bars and restaurants beneath Albert Park that I like to walk through.  Late at night on a Wednesday, people packed the bars and the sidewalks had the occasional throng of people making their way to the next bar.   Normally, the town is laid back.  People drink and get loud, but there is a definite sense of relaxed atmosphere.  Normally, I do not hear panicked breathing and stomping feet.

As I walked up the street, I got shoved aside by a British man fleeing for his life.

As he topped the street, he rounded on his heel and addressed me and anyone else who would listen.  He said, in a very thick British accent, “Can’t women in this country have a little class?”   He repeated it, raising his voice to ensure it projected the way he had come.   He looked like he could last a few minutes in a brawl, but he shouted his question while on the move.  Even when he stopped, he kept his body turned and poised like a sprinter.  Abruptly, his eyes widened in terror and he darted up a street.  He stood about six feet tall and leanly athletic.

Chasing after him, a very slender and irate girl gave chase.  She did not break stride as she shouted, “Come back here, you fucking pussy!”   I watched her run, stop, scan for her quarry and continue her pursuit.  She wore a skimpy black dress and treacherous heels that did nothing to slow her down.

Taking up the rear, a blond girl picked her way up the street.  She had a look of long suffering patience as she diligently plodded along.  My inquisitive look prompted her to explain, “He called her a ‘slut.’  She boxed him.  He ran away and she chased after him.  Now, I need to catch her before she does something stupid.”

As she explained the situation, we could her the girl shouting her entreaties and the occasional masculine curse.  The blond and the gathering group of friends moved onto to find the girl in black and I resumed my journey home.

As I crested the hill, the girl in black materialized.  She walked now.  Her heels clacked on the pavement and she had shoulders squared like a boxer.   I asked her if she had caught the man who had insulted her.  She replied, “The fucking pussy got away.”