buffer-overrun

"You pushed aside the blackout curtain and elbowed your way through a jam packed bar crowd, scarcely able to breath or see  for smoke. Here in the complete privacy of the din and the crowd, you and your pick-up yelled the preliminary sex advances at each other.  You could flirt but you couldn’t fight. There wasn’t even room to smack someone’s face. For that, you had to step outside. Oh, the bloody battles and the sidewalk vommitings, the punches flying wide, the heads crashing backwards against the fenders of parked cars. Huge diesel dykes slugging it out, grimmer far than the men. The siren wailing arrival of the police, the sudden swoopings of the shore patrol. Girls dashing down from their apartments to drag some gorgeous endangered drunk upstairs to safety and breakfast served next morning in bed like a miracle of joy. Hitchhiking servicemen delayed at this corner for hours, nights, days, proceeding at last on their journey with  black eyes crab lice, clap, and only the dimmest memory of their hostess, or host."