This City

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

Four Stories About The Truth

Harder

“‘I stopped a robbery once,’ he’ll say. ‘Brought three armed men down with my bare fucking hands.’ Maybe he’ll tell the story to his children, or his grandchildren, or even his grandchildren’s children. Maybe he’ll tell it to his live-in nurse, or his neighbor, or his chauffeur. Maybe, if he’s unlucky, he’ll be muttering the story to himself as he loses his mind.

“The point is, this isn’t something you forget, no matter how old or senile you might end up. This is something you take pride in for the rest of your life - who stops a fucking robbery? The guy was just sitting there, eating his fucking soup or whatever, and three guys came in carrying fucking submachine guns, they pointed them around at us, forced us all to the ground, and this guy, this crazy fucking guy, he stood up and he said ‘no.’ Just like that. ‘No.’ And the robbers swivelled around and pointed their weapons at him, but he was already running towards them, and he kneed the first guy in the fucking groin, loud enough for all of us to hear, hard enough to do some permanent damage for sure, and he’ll tell all this to his kids, a smile on his face.

“‘So I knee the first guy,’ he’ll say, ‘I knee the first guy, and he goes down, but he’s the smallest one, so I’ve got these two giant thugs angry at me now. I know I’ve only got time to take down one of them, so I make a snap decision and I kick the one closest to me in the fucking throat,’ which, if I may, I’d like to break in and say was fucking crazy. He had these big-ass boots on, and he lifted his leg and spun around and kicked this guy in the fucking throat, and the guy was down, and he wasn’t getting up. I mean, who kicks a guy in the throat?

“But, anyway, he’ll be talking to his kids/grandkids/neighbor/driver/nurse or whatever, and he’ll tell them that, and they’ll start to get skeptical, because the man’ll be close to eighty or ninety at this point, and they won’t be able to imagine a ninety year old man kicking a guy in the throat, but he’ll continue on, he’ll say ‘And I look at the last guy, and he’s scared out of his mind, so he pulls the trigger. He pulls the trigger, but he’s got the fucking safety on! Ha! He forgot the fucking safety! So I walk over to him, and I grab his arm, and he’s scared, and I twist his arm back until he drops the gun, and I don’t stop twisting, and I break his arm, and he drops to the ground crying. Everybody gets up, cheering, and I’m a hero now. I ate for free at that restaurant until the owner died’

“So this old man will tell this story to whoever, and they won’t believe him, and they’ll say ‘Oh, alright, sure Mr. _____, whatever you say, do you want your pudding now?’ They won’t believe him, but I was there and it’s all true - everything I’ve said was true. I’ve robbed a few places, sure, I’ll admit that, and I’ve found that for the most part people are soft. They’re sheep. They won’t resist. They’ll let you rob them and be on your merry way. But this guy? This guy wasn’t soft. This guy was fucking hard. He was harder than all of us, and I’ll never forget him. None of us will. He’ll tell his kids ‘no, it’s true, it’s all true,’ and they won’t believe his story, but he’ll know that we remember, he’ll know that he was a hero, and he’ll know that’s what fucking counts.”

Better

“So Marty and I, we’re eating at this deli…”

“God, not this story.”

“Oh, shush, you. I got the pastrami on rye, and Marty got the ham.”

“Turkey.”

“Sure, fine, turkey, whatever.”

“You know I hate ham. Why would I get ham?

“So we’re eating, and it’s pretty crowded, and these three guys stand up!”

“Two.”

“What?”

“There were only two guys, Helen, not three.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Fine, whatever. Two guys stand up, and each of them pull out a pistol.”

“Right.”

“And they fire into the air and they shout, I don’t know, ‘this is a stick up’ or whatever robbers shout.”

“It was ‘give us all your wallets and open the register.’”

“Right, whatever, so, anyways, I look at Marty and I mouth to him ‘stop them, Marty,’ but of course he doesn’t.”

“They were armed.”

“You have no balls.”

“Helen, they were ARMED!”

“No balls!”

“I swear to the LORD, woman!”

“So, whatever, anyways, Mr. No Balls here takes out his wallet and puts it on the table, like they asked, and I follow suit, because if he’s not going to stop them, I-“

“How was I supposed to stop them, huh? How? Did I have a gun?”

“You were in the military, Marty!”

“That was THIRTY YEARS AGO, Helen!”

“So?”

“Why didn’t you try and stop them?”

“…Marty, they were armed.”

“…”

“Fine, whatever. So they tell us to get on the floor, and we do, but there’s one guy who they haven’t noticed. He was eating in the corner, and they weren’t paying attention, and he snuck up behind them, and he grabbed one of them by the neck.”

“No, Helen, he didn’t.”

“I’m pretty sure he did.”

“No. He pushed him into the counter, and the guy dropped the gun.”

“…did he?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“The guy dropped the gun, but it didn’t matter. Neither gun was loaded.”

“Oh. Yeah. Maybe.”

“Not maybe, definitely.”

“Well Mr. Smart Ass, if the gun wasn’t loaded why didn’t YOU stop them?”

“How was I supposed to know their guns weren’t loaded, huh?”

“He did.”

“No, he DIDN’T. He got LUCKY.”

“…fine.”

“So the guy, the ‘hero’ as Helen likes to call him, he-“

“He WAS a hero!”

“So the ‘hero’ says to the other guy, he says ‘you two can leave now, we won’t call the cops, just go.’ And the two run off.”

“He was a hero.”

“Hero? He let them go! Why would he let them go?!”

“Because he was NOBLE, Marty!”

“Pfft. Noble my ass.”

“You wouldn’t understand. He was more sophisticated than you.”

“Oh was he?”

“Yes. He was BETTER than you.”

“…”

“…I’m sorry, Marty.”

“…”

“Marty…”

“So that’s the story. There were no heroes or villains. It just is what it is. Despite what Helen would tell you, that’s the real truth.”

Faster

Every Friday night I like to hold an open mic at my bar - musicians, amateur filmmakers, writers, painters - basically, anyone who creates anything is allowed to go up and show it off on stage. It brings in good money and good customers, you know?

Last Friday was the usual sort of  thing - a few shitty bands played, then a writer went up and read some short story about a crazy guy, this woman who made sketches of serial killers went up and showed off her stuff, etc. You know, the usual.

There’s one guy who shows up every Friday for about six months now, but he’s never actually gone up and presented anything. After the serial killer lady finished up her act, he asked me if he could go on, and I said sure, mostly because I was curious.

This is what he had to say.

“I was eating breakfast down the street last night and a man came in. He had a gun, and a bag. He wanted all the money in the register.

“There was another man there who stopped the robbery. I wrote a poem about him, and I’d like to read it.

‘You,
Yes you, the man who sat in the corner.
You,
Yes you, the man who saved the day.
You,
Yes you, the man who acted first.
You,
Yes you, thank you, thank you.

I,
Yes I, the man who stands before you.
I,
Yes I, the man who didn’t act.
I,
Yes I, the man who stood still.
I,
Yes I, want to thank you, thank you.

You acted faster
than anyone else.
You knew what to do
when no one else did.
You are a hero
and that is the truth.
Thank you, thank you,
thank you, thank you.’

“That man isn’t here tonight, but my heart goes out to him. He did a wonderful thing. Thank you, wherever you are.”

The man smiled to me as he walked back to his seat. I smiled back.

It was a shitty poem, but it’s the thought that counts, you know?

Stronger

“Hey Dad. How are you? Good?

“I had a crazy day today. I went to the deli for breakfast and there was a robbery.

“Saul - you remember Saul, right? I went to high school with him. He was a year behind me? Well, Saul was there, and he tried to empty the register. He didn’t recognize me.

“Cathy was working, and well, you know, she’s new. She didn’t really know what to do. She panicked.

“He didn’t have a gun, which was lucky, because I don’t know what I would’ve done if he had. He tried to pull the whole ‘finger in the bag that sort of looks like a gun’ thing, but it didn’t trick me. I yelled out his name and he spun around. I think he’s on meth. He was missing some teeth.

“He pointed the finger at me he was going to shoot me, and I said, ‘Saul, we both know you don’t have a gun, so how about you just get out and we’ll leave it at that?’

“It was probably stupid. I mean, he might’ve had a gun. He might’ve. He didn’t this time, but under different circumstances…

“I just…Dad, I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t let him rob our…your deli. I couldn’t let him.

“He said ‘Look, man, back off or I’m going to shoot you,’ and I just, I don’t know, I charged him.  I couldn’t help myself. He probably weighed like, 120 pounds, dad, but I charged him anyway. I couldn’t let him ruin your deli. I couldn’t do it.

“So I charged him and he collapsed, and I picked him up and I threw him out. I didn’t call the cops. It would’ve just been more hassle.

“Dad, I…it scared me. Not Saul, Saul wasn’t a threat, just..what I did. I was just so ANGRY at him. I flipped out. I couldn’t help it. I could’ve…I might’ve really hurt him.

“…

“Hey, anyway, I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I should get back to the deli.

“Dad, I just…I just wanted to say I love you. You know it, but I just had to say it again.

“…

“And uh…

“Dad, please, get better soon. You can beat this coma. You’re stronger than it is. You can beat it. I know you can. I need you. That’s the truth.

“Bye, Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”