Taco GHOST



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A few days ago I was walking down the street early in the morning when I saw him standing outside the Taco Bar. I’ve been seeing him for over a year now, a huge black guy who never bathes, changes clothes, or, from what I can tell, ever leaves the same three-block radius. I call him the Ghost because I like to think he’s the spirit of a schizophrenic bum who was murdered years ago, and only I can see him. The Ghost is always talking to himself and staring off into space and, when he’s feeling lively, he goes to the corner and tries to get people to give him money for tacos. He is a menacing presence and obviously enjoys using his size to intimidate people.

As I walked up on him the other day, I sensed from his body language that he was in a waking state and feeling more belligerent than usual. Sure enough, as I was trying to pass him he got directly in my path and said “Hey man, where are all the drugs at? Where’s all that good weed?”

Now, the truth is I’m kind of an asshole. I try to stay out of people’s way and avoid confrontation in general, but if some doofus bothers me in a public place I have no problem telling him what I think. I’m especially irritable in the morning, so when the Ghost asked me what I felt was a stupid question I responded, “If you don’t know where the weed’s at by now maybe you should go back and live with your mother.”

His reaction was instantaneous, “Hey, fuck you, you motherfucker!” As I walked away he yelled threats and curses at me. “I’m gonna fuck you up. You’re a dog on the ground. I’m gonna fuck you up you piece of shit!”

I didn’t think anything of it. Maniacs threaten you all the time and nothing ever comes of it. I did note, however, that he was still watching me after I had gotten several blocks away.

A week passed in relative peace until today when I saw the Ghost walking towards me from the other direction. I had zero apprehension. The guy is an obvious powerhouse but also slow and stupid. Besides, I figured there was a good chance he would think I was just a hallucination. As we got closer he gave no indication of recognition until our paths crossed. Then he looked at me and said, “I should knock your head off right now you motherfucker!”

With that, he swung at my head with a wild right hook. Like I said, this dude is very large; his meat hook is half the size of my entire body. I’m no master of self defense but somehow I dodged out of the way while landing a punch of my own to his abdomen. My blow had no effect. I might as well have been punching three hundred pounds of damp clay. I turned to run away, and as I fled he landed a kick square on my ass. It was a solid blow but didn’t slow me down or cause much pain. Within a few seconds I was far enough away that there was no chance of the Ghost catching me. I turned to face my attacker. “Good work Weirdzilla. You just made an enemy for life.”

He looked at me and said, “Why are you running you coward? You know why? It’s because your ancestors were afraid of women. They were afraid of women and they set us against each other. You’re afraid because of your ancestors. You’re afraid of women!”

“I’m not afraid of women you nutcase, I’m afraid of lunatics who physically attack me. There’s no shame in that. Any sane person would run from you.”

“You’re a dog” he replied, “A dog on the ground. Your ancestors were afraid of women you coward.”

“Whatever you say crazy man. You don’t know where I sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow passed out at the bus stop. I’m gonna kick your ass and have you arrested before you take your morning dump.”

With that he let out a brutal war cry and started running at me with surprising speed. I took off down the alley and easily got away, coming out at the corner right by the church. I waited a few moments and looked back down the alley but there was no sign of the Ghost.

 I’m not really going to hunt the guy down in his sleep, but I know he’s out there even as we speak, angling for tacos and plotting my destruction. Thanks to my acid wit I now have one more enemy to watch out for, one more danger to avoid. The obvious moral of the story is that when a maniac asks you where to score drugs, no matter how rudely, just tell him where they’re at.

UPDATE: Today I had a change of heart and went over to the taco bar and apologized to the guy for talking shit to him. He apologized for kicking me in the ass. We both agreed that it was mostly the heat that got us riled. We’re friends now. His name is Chris. I asked him, “Seriously though, what did you mean when you said my ancestors were afraid of women and that’s why we were fighting?”

He said, “Your ancestors were afraid of their women so they didn’t have enough children to work the land for them. That’s why they had to enslave black people. I’m not sure if that was the case with your ancestors, they mighta’ just been fucked up in the head.”