Cafe News, Vol. 3

Cobey Williamson
Cafe News
Published in
3 min readFeb 2, 2021


So there I was, no shit. I love when there is truth to vernacular. I pushed myself off the ground and spit a little blood. Fuck that shit tastes good when you know you earned it.

Thank god for a fair fight. I was so exposed I was already dead, save my life had been spared by the thin armor of honor. Of course I’d been up once myself and could have walked away. That was gone; two down as I shoved myself to my feet and got square. I probably couldn’t take but one more. I know my limits.

They told me to stay down. I only choose to press on when I feel certain I’m right, when I believe the blind lady of justice can’t help but deign to my position. I couldn’t see straight. Things kept fading in and out. The left knee was quivering a tiny bit, beginning to fold. The left fist scoffed and ordered the troops to kill the first traitor to admit defeat.

There was nothing left of strategy or gamesmanship. Tired as any, the finish wanted its arrival just as much as I. Give off with your deception and declare a clear victor. Suspend the tension of whether or not there’s a question. There is no question. Only control of a moment.

I strike first, betraying my disguise. I feign defense. By design I counter only, only to set precedence. I am just like you. I want to be first. I don’t want to be limited to the course of reaction. I too want to choose the instant when.

I miss but force a back step, an episodic loss of balance. I have planned for this need for redundancy. I have planned for many such events.

When things go wrong, they go wrong fast. You think you have it all figured out, have deciphered all the riddles, have finally conquered all. One moment you are the god of your own experience and your will is law. The next moment you’re on the ground wondering what exact instant it went wrong. It’s the same moment, you realize much later after deep reflection. It’s the same fucking moment.

I don’t really remember much other than coming to. After that I remember being conscious, but the images are so vague, the memories so fast and faded, I can’t express them. After a while, I could think again, could see and hear the world the way I had before, filed my thoughts the same way. But I always knew there was this time before, this time when I was someone else. Someone who had not yet chose.

Life went back to normal or so it seemed. Nothing in life ever seems normal. I lived better, which is always good. When all else fails, failure doesn’t. In all but the weakest it can only strengthen, save in final conflict with death.

Why I was fighting, one can only guess and only one can know. I think it is inherent, like the Buddha said. I can’t help but fight. It is how I know I’m here.

Everyone knew I was a fool, just like I knew they were. It hurt sometimes, when there wasn’t enough tension or sex or sexual tension to make the punishment worth the crime. Physical only goes so far. After a while, only pain feels real. Blood always tastes good when you earn it.

I like taking a lick. It’s a trait I take great pride in. I take one hell of a punch. It’s surprises people sometimes. I mean, shit, it surprises me.

What I hate is stepping right into it. It seems fitting when the body fails; it’s the mind I have a quarrel with. Where were you on that one, genius? Off patting yourself on the back somewhere? It’s like you planned it or something.

Wait a minute.

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