Daytime Night

You'd never have known, the only clue being the lack of light. The cool air slapping our drunkeness away as we slip out for a smoke, only to have the stomach do a backflip as you light the cancer stick, take the famous first deep draw. The music seeps from every crack in the wall behind you, the ground moves, people dance regardless of the cabs and coppers crammed along the road. A fight breaks out, someone lays motionless, a girl crying, screaming, sobbing, "You killed him", quiet at first, the sobs wrack her body, the police move closer. "YOU KILLED HIM", louder know. A gentle english cop lays a hand on her shoulder, the scene is serious. "YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM! YOU FUCK! YOU CUNT! HE'S DEAD! YOU FUCKING KILLLLLEEEDDDD HIIMMMMM!".

"He certainly looks dead.", I comment to my new friend, whom i've known for maybe twenty minutes. My friend nods his head in agreement. We watch the cops lead the girl away, her night, and possibly her life, ruined. Two cops begin CPR, three or four stand around, trying to look official, trying to move the crowd along but more people spill out of the club. The only sound is the music coming from the club, an occasional cop muttering into their radio. Every know and then we hear a grief stricken wail from the back of the police cruiser we guess the girl is sitting in.

Across the way, in the darkness of the park three solid policemen tackle a big kiwi to the ground. The struggle lasts about five minutes before the New Zealander is tasered. He shakes and rolls like he's been possesed, the kind of thing you see in one of those crazy, happy-clappy new age churches. He aint being saved though.

The siren of an ambulance drowns out the screams of the girl. "You'd a thought they'd have taken her away by now." says my friend. I nod my agreement.

They close the club, my old friends join me and my new friend. We walk past the prone body, paramedics doing there thing, though from what we can see, there's really no point. There's a dark pool of blood round his head, a flap of skin dangling from his chin, his eyes are closed and his chest only rises when they little green men force oxygen down his throat.

The next day we read about it in the paper. "One punch hit kills loving fiance". No wonder the poor girl was wailing, they were getting married a week later.