It made sense that Providence would take a farewell swipe at me. I had been packing out the Monastery and was carrying out an armload of arms, including my favorite round shield, when the downstair neighbor rolled into the stairwell with a black Colt in hand.
Let's call him Pacino. Early 20's, eager to prove, and a bit high strung. ...but I repeat myself (Hell we've all been there.))
Academic Richter-brain noted the orange safety tip, but Pragmatic Richter brain insisted on moving the firearm away from me regardless. Contact confirmed the thing was plastic. The shield had Pacino's plastic pointed at not me, and I was in his space in quick order. It doesn no good for a Holy Man (tm) to recklessly kill. I'm a little more flexible on the subject of kneecaps, which Pacino and I discussed.
This parting drama was laughed about as I had a farewell beer or 5 with Pacino, Emperor Norton, and the other ususal suspects later that night.
A strangely affable parting shot from the city. I don't miss the late night brawls outside my window, the rabid Columbus days, or stepping over heroin needles to get to the Jeep. There's always a quality to the place that will stick with me. Africa never let go of Alan Quartermain - neither will Providence ever entirely give up me.