CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Jonathan chipped a couple nails and swole up his right fist in the exchange.
Prepneck lost an eye, most of his teeth, swallowed a cue ball and traded some skin for glass.
He'd be in the hospital for a while and die in about three years, sad, drunk and alone in a gutter. Like all misogynist racists should.
Jonathan, meanwhile, enjoyed a night of no-strings-attached, vigorous, consensual sex with the lady right there in the bar.
He did it billiards style, which is to say balls first. And the other patrons all cheered them on.