I can’t recall being in a fist fight since elementary school.  I’m no a fighter. 

Walking at night on a crowded pedestrian street in Málaga I sidestepped to avoid running into a guy. 

He deliberately shouldered me — for no reason. 

I did the wrong thing, reflexively giving him an equal shove back.  And calling him a Fuckwad.  

He punched me, but not that hard.  More than a slap.  Less than a punch. 

It didn’t hurt but happened to draw blood as my glasses cut me and were knocked to the ground. 

At that point I did the right thing.  I stepped into the crowded outdoor restaurant and sat down beside a waiter.  

My opponent had still said nothing.  But started removing his jacket as he’d seen toxic macho actors do on TV.  Ready to fight. 

It would have been difficult at that point to drag me out of the restaurant. I was confident the fight was over.

Finally another big guy, another local, intervened as peacemaker, and convinced him to move on. 

Travel is easy in 2022 with the internet and map apps.  But there’s still some adventure to be had. 😀 

Here’s the damage done.  Do I look scared enough?