The following is from my restoration journal and took place on UnioN street
on Bostons back bay about 11pm...its not that long besides if you do not like
it you can wrap your fish in it...best Michael....

With a lightning uppercut to the jaw the littleguy raised the big guy up
...up ..up up...in
slowmotion... as if  cartoonlike with twinkletoes and a mishapen grin before
clocking
him with a terrible roundhouse to  the nose causing the cartilage to crumple
amid a
spray of splattering  blood.
The big guy then staggers senceless over the hood of his  badly parked car as
the little
guy moves in with suicidal  abandon.
When I first saw them out the window; we were into a second order of
cherrystone
clams amid schooners of winter ale and fingers  of  "71" Macallum. There is
something special about passing a winters night among the dark wood of an
historic
oyster bar with steamy plates of lobster and fish stews in passing.
Union Oyster House,Boston dates from before the American revolution;
It has catered to the  briney tastes of paupers and kings;highwaymen and
priests, and near-do-well preservationists alike throughout history
.Some of its better known patrons had names like Webster and
JFK and "tip"Oneill.
 Oyster bars are necessary to this life as mortar is to stone;they
bond our soul to lifes origin ,the sea,...and cast all cares; at least
momentairly;at the
door of contentment.Rich is he who may idle a winters night in the company of
a
dozen or so noble bivalves from Maine and Canadas cold waters while warming by
the ancient fireplace......Rich is he who drinks the hot saline broth
garnished with
celery and bay and becomes healed and whole again...hail oh gnarled
crustaceon in your succulent juice let us rejoice in your sweetness and
restore our vitality with vigar......
The fight now has moved into second gear; and the patrons are spilling out
from the bars
into the raw night air to gawk and cheer the gladiators on.
It begins to flurry again and the streets are cold and wet with mean
intentions.
.Normally I eschew fistacuffs and at my tender young age I avoid brawls like
the
plague;besides baby Mary would't like it.
 But never before have I ever seen two mis matched fighters in size and
weight; the little guy is a tough wiry irish mick of all about 5'4"
 the big guy is a bruiser; doubled in size and  well muscled at 6'4".
 The little guy moves in  for the kill when out of the crowd a young blond
woman with
muscular build and mall hair steps in an pushes him back repeately yelling at
him;
giving the big guy time to recoup and come after him ....the big guy then is
jabb
punching over the womans shoulder.with his bloodied nose.. and the crowd is
munching harder on their
beer nuts... when in steps another woman ...a blond with muscular legs and a
dress
and jumps on the back of the big guy wrapping her legs about him screaming at
him
as he  frantically waltzes around with her on his back.
The crowd is in a frenzy;...yelling  Tag Team ..Tag Team...I'M thinking
....oh boy ..whats this..dinner and a show;?....
 the womans dress is hiked up well above her bum; there is the blood; and the
loud
bellowing of male stags amid the screams of the female...
.I looked at my watch to make sure it was the millinieum and the much
ballyhooed
new age. It was.
Feats of strength are usually short lived and this promised not to be any
different.Just
when we thought the dress was about to come off Bostons finest appeared
 and put the contestants at ease in the backs of their cruisers and we all
plied back to
our bivalves and animated conversation about human progress and new utopias in
learning.Seems like the whole thing was a fight over a parking space..and girl
friends..Best Michael.