Too tall to fall...

Nine O clock, Cup of tea, Suited and booted at the front door of Samsara on Dawson Street, Well when I say nine I really mean nine thirty-ish!  Its a crisp December evening but not too cold, Not like the cold patch we had last year, No snow forecast And while people moaned and groaned about last years white slushy inconvenience, There was a quite wishful anticipation from alot of people, mainly women, For a repeat, It did kind of add an air of Romanticism to a less than romantic city,  For a while anyway,  Christmas time makes me nervous, being a doorman in Dublin can be a bit tricky at the best of times, Now factor in the excess of alcohol consumption, Recessionary problems and Xmas, Now also add into the mix that the only sober man on the street who in their opinion is just there to be a personal kiljoy, Has Parkinsons disease! I have an uneasy feeling about the night, Not necessarily that anything particularly bad is going to happen, Just that something is definitely going to happen! My intuition is generally quite good at picking up on things like this, Some might argue that its a street at Christmas time full of drunk Irish people, Of course something is going to happen!  And I wont truly feel, Secure would be a strong word, Content would be a better choice, Until Vitos the other doorman arrives, He has a way of just standing there all six foot three of him, broad shoulders, Typical Slavic features, shaved head sunken eyes And a very pronounced jaw line, Almost skeletal, His demeanour is typical of eastern european bouncers, They just look like they were built to fight! And no doubt he can! In saying that in all the years Iv'e known Vitos, He's never hit anyone! Fraid the same can't be said of me, Regrettably,     The streets busy, Hundreds of revellers trapezing up and down Dublin's premier street, The majority of them not doing so good, Staggering and almost falling, One young man in particular caught my eye, On his own and standing about six foot three And I'd say he couldn't have weighed more than ten stone or 140 pounds soaking wet! Not a very good combination, I think God must have a sense of humour, He was certainly odd to look at And coupled with I'm sure  copious amounts of alcohol he had undoubtedly consumed, He was like a cross between John Cleese and The walking dead, As he approached me  I could see he was Just about to go, My face winces in the anticipation of the inevitable sound of face meeting footpath,That's a horrible sound, A very distinctive sound...How would i explain it, It's a sound that gets inside of you So much so that it ceases to be a sound But more like a stomach churning horrible feeling, To explain it in a little more detail, Take your favourite pet and watch him cross the road, His tail wagging his tongue out And you bend down to greet him, Then wham He's under a car being dragged down the street, You stand there in disbelief not registering whats just happened,  But that's not the feeling I'm talking about, As you turn to run to him Your legs rebel And turn to jelly, Unable to see the damage yet and you know there must be damage huge damage! You visualise him twisted and bloody His head turned at an awkward angle, His fangs exposed and bloody, His little body crushed The smell of burning flesh fills the air as He's pinned under the still hot engine!  I hope you understand now...I bet you do!!That's the horrible split second gut wrenching feeling I'm talking about!
And as this Skinny boys face headed South towards the footpath with the inevitability of the law of attraction...God's sense of humour continued.... All of a sudden theres a leg that magically appeared under him, Which He never knew he had! And frankly neither did I.
he continued on his jolly jaunt down Dawson street, Much to the amusement of all he passed!

Imagine that, He chose to resemble someone with Parkinsons...And I didn't!

P.S sorry about the doggy bit, Just need to get inside your head!
Regards Dave.