“Chophouse to The Waffle House, and Strippers in Between (Nobody Eats at Brunch/96)”

“Hey, dickhead, no touching allowed.”

“Go fuck your mother, clown. You see this money? I’ll touch what the fuck I want.”

The smoke-filled space was invaded by a looming shadow with broad shoulders and a sweating and steaming bald head.

“What the fuck did you say, little man?” and Wood smirked.

“Bring your mother’s ass here, dawgs, it’s nothing. She’ll get slapped with this cash, too,” and just then, blood began to trickle from his nose. Wood threw a swift chop to the neck of one of the many former collegiate athletes turned escorts to exotic dancing types, and his knees buckled. Wood stood over him, smashing the left side of the offensive lineman’s face with a piece of chrome and followed with a stomp that helped lead the shadow’s face to the floor.

“That’s enough, Wood, you’re gonna kill him.”

“Fuck him. Why you didn’t tell him who I am?”

“He’s new; I had to break him in, and he took the initiative. He did what he was supposed to do. You can’t just come in here and flex, then beat up security because you don’t like his style.”

“And you should know I’m not to be fucked with,” Wood tossed back his cranberry and Sprite, inhaling deeply, blowing smoke in the air.