The Monkey Dance by Rory Miller
“What you lookin’ at?” barks a young man. He’s about your size, about your age. You don’t think you were looking at anything in particular. You also know the smart thing to do is to give a little apology and go back to your beer.
But you’re a young man yourself. Before you even realize it, you are looking dead in his eyes and saying, “Who wants to know?”
“You trying to be smart?”
“What if I am?” You aren’t sure who stood up first but both of you are standing now. His skin is getting red. He’s flexing his shoulders, looking bigger. You can’t see yourself and you don’t even think about it, but you are doing the same thing. More words are exchanged, some pretty colorful profanities and both of you step closer and closer. The veins in his neck and forehead are bulging and his jaw muscles are clenching whenever he isn’t insulting you
You throw a quick glance at the other patrons. Everyone is watching but no one is doing a thing.