So what are you going to do about it, punk?

Waiting in the DMV line on 37th street today, I noticed two guys facing off for a fight, something I didn’t expect at 730am in the morning, but hey, it’s LA.

They looked like they’d been up for a few days, so I can see where their patience might be tested. It’s hard to maintain your wits when you’ve been awake for 72 hours.

“Well, come on then, let’s see it,” the taller guy said.

The shorter fellow had on a striped shirt that almost went to his knees. “Oh, you about to get taught!” he responded.

“Well, come on with it then I’m right here,” Tall Guy said.

They kept circling and mean-mugging.

“Come on, BOY! Let’s. See. It. Right. Now.,” Tall Guy said as he thumped his chest in time with the staccato of his words.

“Oh, yeah, you about to see it. You better call you mom and pop and baby sister to come watch, cause there’s about to be a beatin’ out here,” Shirt to Knees said.

This is one of the slowest DMV offices on the planet. The line stretches out the door. I watched their elaborate pre-fight routine for twenty minutes before I entered the building, waiting for the fists to fly.

They never did.

No flying fists, no fight, no beatin’ out here.

They were still jaw-breaking when I came out an hour later, but no contact had been made.

I think if I come back tomorrow they’ll still be here, ready to fight. 

Any time now.