Damn, it Felt Good to be a Gangster
My friend Alec hung a cushioned armchair in the middle of his loft apartment that we used to swing on during parties. It wasn't anything fancy, just some durable rope tossed over a few beams in the ceiling, but it was enough to keep us happy—until his girlfriend flew off and broke her collarbone. It pains me to think of my younger days and how we tested the bounds of absurdity, but damn, it felt good to be a gangster.
The blizzard of '93 was an unforgettable experience for those within walking distance of Virginia Highlands, and affluent shopping and entertainment district near midtown Atlanta. It was the first time in a long time any of us had seen snow on the ground, and the excitement was infectious.
"You think they'll be open?" I asked, pulling the cord to open my mini-blinds. "They already are," replied Preston, eager to head to the bars. "First round's on me! I'll see you in a minute."
Watching the white clusters pummel down from my third-story window brought back childhood memories. Winter was a big part of my life growing up, and as I sat on the edge of my bed reminiscing, I remembered how the snow tasted while biting my mitten off with my teeth.
"You ready?" asked Preston, pretending to throw a snowball he was squeezing. "We're meeting Alec, Jenn, and Sara on the corner in five."
Our two-block journey was nothing short of a dream. Cars drifted past with their widows down, drivers gleefully cheering us on with pink faces. "You guys heading over to the Highlands?" asked one passerby. "Hell yeah!" we shouted in unison.
We were a few doors down when the first snowball hit. "What the hell?" Alec sneered, pointing to a black SUV. "Did y'all see that?"
Whipping our heads back to get a better look, we observed the car make an illegal U-turn in front of our friend Charlie's house. "I think they're coming back," whispered Jenn. As we stood dormant, we saw a woman in the passenger seat roll down her window and throw a curveball at a guy walking his dog.
"You bitch!" I screamed as she grazed the back of Preston’s neck. "I dare you to come back!"
The woman continued battering random people with frost pellets as they drove through the neighborhood, her brutish cackle echoing through the streets. "I see brake lights," blurted Preston a few minutes later. "We've got a good three minutes before they make it back this way."
The trick to making a perfect snowball is to pack it tight enough to soar without breaking and loose enough not to cause permanent damage. In this case, the bigger, the better. Crouching between a delivery truck and a van near a snow-covered curb, I scooped up a pile of white ice and rolled a 10" diameter mic drop.
As the SUV inched closer, I crept to the back of the van, peered through the rear-view mirror, and locked in on my target—her blonde hair thrashing in the wind. "She's not gonna know what hit her," I laughed, holding my ice ball like a soon-to-be mother.
Leaning against the back of the delivery truck, I stood in position and waited for the perfect moment. 3-2-BAM—right in the face!
We heard the screams and tire squeals, but nothing could have prepared us for the door slams. "Oh, shit!" yelled Jenn. "RUN!"
Looking back now, I should have known better than to assume a stranger would laugh off a retaliation of this magnitude. Her face was a horrid shade of red, either due to the ice bath or sheer rage, and her shrill voice would not stop threatening my existence.
"I'm gonna beat your ass so hard!" she screamed, chasing me down the street. "You better run fast and pray I don't catch up!"
And run I did, down the sidewalk and straight through a crowded smoke-filled bar. "Stoli and lime?" shouted Alec from across the room. "Yeah," I grinned, blazing past the register, pointing behind me. "I'll be back when she's gone!"
It wouldn't have been hard to find me locked in a stall with my feet up, but she never even stepped foot in the bathroom. Sometimes, I wonder if she even planned on kicking my ass or if her performance was just for show. Either way, friends don't let friends do stupid shit unless they're mine, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
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