Rock was stuck behind two cars traveling fifteen miles an hour on a busy four-lane thoroughfare through a middle-class Little Rock neighborhood. A station wagon in the right lane was driven by a gray-haired woman Rock estimated was at least seventy years old. Rock was in the left lane, following a 1990s model Cavalier convertible driven by a young man with bushy blonde hair.
It was fairly clear to Rock he was being fucked with, and clearer still when the convertible came to a full stop.
Rock and the young man got out of their cars and squared off in a parking lot, not more than a foot apart. The man shoved Rock.
"Why were you tailgating me?" he said.
"What are you talking about?" Rock responded. "Why were you driving so slowly?"
"Because you were tailgating. I was trying to get you to back off."
"Man, you were driving fifteen miles an hour. I was plenty far enough back."
The man drew back and landed a soft punch to Rock's right cheek. It caused no pain nor any damage, but Rock could see that the blonde-headed thug behind it was much larger than he and at least half his age.
Rock turned and walked away toward the nearest back yard. With the car incident completely forgotten, he realized after he climbed a fence that he was in a yard familiar to him. He saw an older man, named Paul, whom he had known for years.
"Pete, it's great to see you," Paul said. "How long's it been?"
They embraced.
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