Great Escapes - New York, New York

We were in some kind of weird park where a giant statue of George Washington watched over us as we walked along, silently waiting for some kind, any kind, of adventure to unfold. It didn't take long.

Two men in dark clothes appeared from nowhere. "Looks like you guys need a couple ounces of hydro," one sneered, seeking some sort of cheap intimidation-based thrill.

"Only two ounces?" I muttered, within the range of their ears. "Let me go find an ATM."

One chuckled back, "What's that, guy?"

"Oh, nothing," my fellow traveler retorted, continuing to walk, but not before turning to offer the man a mocking grin and a wink. You would think a couple of second-rate ruffians would appreciate such tactful humor on this crisp night. Perhaps these two were different, I thought. Perhaps they would laugh it off and join us later for cocktails. Perhaps.

We kept walking. And with that, the savagery began.

In an instant I was flanked by one of the men, while the tall one swung like a wino in the direction of my friends. Engulfed in shock, I smashed my lit cigarette into the man's cheek, and he flailed away like a wild animal. I cursed him as he ran, his burning face-flesh convincing him to keep running.

Now scared, I blindly implored the spirit of old George to come to my aid. After all, a 12-foot granite statue of America's first president is always a valuable asset to have in a street fight. However, when I came to my senses, it turned out to be a non-issue.

My two friends had run away like cowards.

"Bastards," I yelled into the night. "Lousy bastards!" My shirt was torn, and my buzz was all but lost. And on top of that, my cigarette was completely out.

The second would-be aggressor had given up on chasing my two friends and had apparently retreated to whatever loathsome hole he came from. I was left alone. I suddenly felt like Holden Caulfield, alone in The City That Never Sleeps.

The middle of New York City is not an ideal locale, especially late at night and after such a fiasco. My choices consisted of wandering around this raging hormone of a city, aimlessly looking for my friends or trying to maneuver the late-night subway system back to Queens and the unfurnished basement with no bathroom that we called home.

"I need a drink," I muttered into the wind.

Indeed. I wiped my brow and walked toward the lights.

I found my so-called compatriots sitting at the far end of a corner bar, swilling strong drink. They gazed at me with surprise, sheltering their eyes from my contempt.

I ordered two beers for myself and slammed them down on the bar.

"What's wrong with you?" asked my friend Steve.

"Oh, nothing really," I said. " I often enjoy fighting for my life while you two scoundrels run like toddlers to have a quick drink."

The barkeep overheard our hateful exchange and shook his head with disdain. My friends ordered more drinks and changed the subject. I brooded for a while and smoked until my lungs hurt. There was no further discussion.

Truth be told, I did not see the night's events as unpleasant or foolish. New York proved itself to me this Spring Break. The Big Apple, as it were, kept us on our toes and made it abundantly clear that there are still adventures to be had -- especially when you don't keep your mouth shut.

A light rain started outside as the bartender swept the floor, and us, out. The jukebox played Miles Davis as we finished our drinks and slowly ambled out the door. We walked home under a yellow electric sky.

The Arts & Entertainment Editor can be reached at artsdesk@unc.edu.