The Unlikely Fighter: A Comedy of Errors

Previously

…I looked at the money on the table, at the worn-out boxing gloves I’d ‘borrowed’ from Sal, at the faint bruise already forming on my own cheekbone. The thought of going back, of facing Boris again (if he ever woke up), of the sheer, terrifying unpredictability of it all, sent a shiver down my spine. “No, Bren,” I said, the words feeling surprisingly solid, surprisingly right. “I don’t think I will.” The rent money was enough. And the memory of Boris the Bruiser, falling like a felled oak because I’d tripped over my own feet, was a story I’d tell for the rest of my life. The Unlikely Fighter had fought his one and only fight. And he’d won. For now.