“I don’t do anything to show off. I do something to **** somebody up,” he said as he was punching and chopping at vital points rapidly on me without touching me.

I had always wanted to study martial arts from someone. I attended a free class back in 2000 at the Zhong Yi Kung Fu Association on Atwood Avenue in Madison, but I didn’t have the discipline to stick with it. I was fascinated by José’s moves, though. I didn’t exactly know how to fight, and I wasn’t even sure what I was capable of, but I was always willing when the time came, whatever the result.

José and Deana would play loud music with their windows open sometimes during the daytime. Usually I get annoyed by that, but I liked the music they played, so there was no reason to say anything. They also had a big-screen TV in their apartment. One night he invited Jared, another neighbor two doors down from us on the right side named Rusty, and I over to watch a comedy show. Rusty was one of the guys who seemed kind of country, but was still down with the hood. He had a mustache, had kind of googly eyes, and was just a little bit silly. We were all sitting on the couch drinking while watching the comedy skit, which made everything even funnier.

“Hailllll NAWWWW!” Rusty kept shouting while being amped up by the alcohol.

We were all having a good time, even though we all barely knew each other.

The drinks in our neighborhood that seemed most popular were Natural Ice, Mad Dog 20/20, and Southern Comfort, not surprisingly. It seemed common practice for people to come home after work and drink. I don’t know if people were trying to escape from work anxiety, or escape from knowing what kind of neighborhood we lived in.

It was about my second week in the new neighborhood and still I didn’t have a job, but then Deana told me about a job opportunity. She said she was a hostess at a restaurant called Ryan’s Steakhouse, and I should apply there since I was also a cook back in Madison.

I went in one afternoon to apply at Ryan’s Steakhouse. It was located on a street called Lakeland Hills Boulevard. The hostess was directly in front of the entrance about 20 ft. back. I told her I was there for an interview, and sat down on a seat near the door. There were a few games along the wall. One of them kept annoyingly saying, “I think I found something, but I’m not sure,” a few times a minute. Servers wearing maroon tops and black pants kept walking by with trays as customers slowly filtered in and out.

Finally, I was interviewed by a manager named Dennis. He was a big guy with chestnut hair, a mustache, goatee, glasses, and with a southern accent. He asked me when I could start work and I said immediately. How could this be? My first interview in a new place far away from home and I got the job? Almost seemed too easy.

One day I was talking to José outside on the balcony.

“What nationality are you?” he asked.

“I’m a few different things,” I said.

“You look Puerto Rican,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

I was surprised to hear that. Nobody back home ever mistook me for Puerto Rican, but I guess this is Florida. Different rules.

“This Friday I’m going to a club called The Latin Flame. I think you would fit in. You want to go with me?” he asked.

“OK,” I agreed.

That Friday night, José drove us to The Latin Flame. He let me borrow a shirt so I could blend in better. I still had a bunch of Wisconsin clothes that probably no one around here would have. The Latin Flame wasn’t far away from where we lived, just a couple neighborhoods down the road.

When we walked through the entrance, the first thing I noticed was two police officers sitting near the front door on guard duty.

“Hmmm. I’ve never seen police officers at a club before. It’s always been bouncers,” I thought to myself.

There was a large dance floor in the middle of the club. Nobody was looking at me like, “You’re not supposed to be here,” so I guess José was right that I would fit in. Loud music was playing, but I’m not the type to just jump on the dance floor right away. José and I ordered a couple of drinks. The female bartender wore a rag on her head and looked almost like a pirate, not only because of what she wore, but there was also a hint of danger about her. I guess we were in the right state if you wanted to see something about pirates.

I went over by myself to a pool table near the rear of the place. A man about my age, who I suspected was younger than me, but I wasn’t sure how since I was only 21, challenged me to a game of pool. He brought his own pool cue that came in two pieces. He screwed them both together and we started playing.

I’ve never been exceptionally good at pool, but I managed to beat him, and he left. Didn’t want a rematch.

I caught up to José, who was on the edge of the dance floor watching everyone else dance.

“Did you beat that guy in pool?” he asked above the noise.

“Yeah,” I said.

“He looked like he wanted to break his stick in half as he was walking away,” José said.

Suddenly I looked at a small group of young people on the dance floor. I saw a young woman punch a young man, and he got a burst of strength and pushed her away with one hand as she fell and slid on the floor on her butt, then she got back up and charged him. Within a few seconds, there was a big ruckus, and the few small groups that were on the dance floor quickly merged into a larger group. It was like a cartoon. There were arms punching within the crowd, but there was no dust cloud. The two police officers jumped onto the crowd and tried to pull people off individually. It was like they were all glued together, because the cops got pulled back and forth without successfully being able to pry anyone off. The crowd started moving around the dance floor clockwise towards us.

“Maybe I should jump in,” I thought, as I started getting excited in anticipation of the crowd’s arrival in front of us.

Just then, José put his arm out in front of me to block me without even looking, still focusing on the brawl. I guess my body language gave away my intention.

After about five minutes, the crowd began to break apart; everyone going their separate ways.

“I’ll see you in the streets!” someone shouted.

Maybe it was a good idea not to get involved. Since I was new to Florida and Lakeland, I didn’t know who was who, and it wasn’t wise to start making enemies for no good reason. It’s just that when you mix alcohol and fighting, which often go together anyway, some things that probably aren’t a good idea may seem like it at the time.

The Latin Flame was shutting down, and it was time to go home. My first experience at a club in Florida. Much different than in Wisconsin, but so was everything else. I was only beginning to realize it.

Very soon I would start working at Ryan’s Steakhouse. I wasn’t sure what kind of place it was, but I was going to find out. If everything else held up as different, maybe Ryan’s would also. But so far, a lot of things were different in a not-so-friendly way.