from the diary: “Sunday 3/22/87
“Almost to the restaurant we’re stopped by a battle. A man getting out of his big off road vehicle is confronted by a youngish dark haired woman in sweater and brandishing a teeny key chain knife. She splatters him with invective, lunges repeatedly at him with the knife. He tries to fend her off, grabs at ther arms to get the knife, shouting What’s the matter with you? She keeps calling him a cock, that he thinks with the head of his cock. From something she’s said I get the idea he scratched her car. When? She sez he’s got the 'same license plate'; has she followed him from somewhere – accidentally run onto the culprit she witnessed from afar? Who knows?
“In the battle he drags off her sweater and shirt – topless she still waves the knife. Don’t know what happens to the knife. He throws her her sweater and shirt, she drags the sweater over her head, still furious, still foul mouthed. He’s got a cut on his upper arm. A grandmotherly woman – plumpish, low key elegant – shows a badge, sez I’m a police officer (to the woman) is there anything I can do to help? Man sez he wants to press charges. Woman storms into restaurant to call police (this one is off duty).
“We pass irate young woman at front desk as waitress is speaking to cops on telephone. We go to our table, spend most the meal rehashing the incident. And what did we do? Well, Becky grabbed the leash of the man’s frightened poodle. Nobody played hero. How big was the knife? The blade looked about an inch long – just a keychain doohickey.
“Jack sez she had nice tits. S’pose so, if you like that sorta thing. I’m not turned on by madness anyway.”
Becky was a friend from high school. We became better friends after high school. Jack was Becky’s dad.