As cute as Mike could be when vulnerable, I was privy to a different but not unfamiliar side of him during this period. One night the three of us were heading to a Social D gig somewhere in OC. Sway was driving, Mike rode shotgun and I sat in the back in my vintage cocktail dress and heels with a bullet belt hugging my hips.
We were at a stoplight when a raised pickup truck full of muscle bound jocks pulled up beside us. Jocks and punks had a long history of mutual hate but these dudes had likely never encountered a couple of stone-cold sober punks like these two. They were a different breed of brawler. Jacked-up on caffeine and frustration, Mike and Sway welcomed the opportunity to unleash. The jocks were the first to exit their vehicle and as they approached I could feel my jaw clamp down. What if the jocks won? What the hell would happen to me? It seemed like a reasonable concern and cell phones hadn’t been invented yet.
Mike exited the car and got directly in someone’s face. Sway was close behind him. I was trying to make myself invisible. The jocks had big biceps but my boys had bigger chips on their shoulders. When the posturing and peacocking reached its climax the jocks backed off and peeled out. Mike and Sway returned to the car and off we went to the club. Mike was unfashionably late and the show was blistering.