“My mom used to say that I became a fighter and a scrapper and a tough guy to protect who I am at my core.”
– Vin Diesel
I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. The only thing I wanted was to be in bed. I hadn’t slept in almost two days.
In my antisocial funk I decided to kill time by people watching. I chose a spot and spent the evening analyzing the crowd.
Early on there was a horde of rednecks. They were yelling, swearing, and being generally rowdy. Their body types ran the gambit. From skinny-fat to regular fat. None the less they boasted about being tough and getting into fights. They wore camouflage, western apparel, and T-shirts advertising firearms companies.
Later in the night I spotted a small group of dudes dressed in a stereotypical “gangster” manner. They were clad in baggy clothing, adorned with images of skulls and guns. Like the rednecks, they were boisterous. Borderline obnoxious. They wanted everyone to know they were there. To feel intimidated by their presence.
My observation was cut short. An old acquaintance saw me and came over to talk. He’d served in Iraq, seen combat, and was now back home. As it turned out, him and his war buddies were having a reunion at the same venue I was in. They were minding their own business and playing pool in the backroom. A whole bunch of ex-soldiers were present, and I hadn’t even noticed.