Too Drunk To Fight

I was 21 in 1992. I was getting hammered with a good friend one night. We were in a slightly competitive mode over our pinball game, which was rare for us. The competition, not the pinball. He was a martial artist and he wanted to get me into it for a long time. But I was overweight and shy about any physical contact whatsoever, let alone fighting. I didn't have sex 'til I was 20... well, about to turn 20 but that's splitting virginal hairs. So we were in this drunk haze and getting a little pushy so he suggested we go outside and fight. But he said it with a smile... like we should go spar or slap-fight or something. So we go outside the bar, right on a really busy intersection in San Francisco. He's in a really scary low-crouching stance and I'm kinda bouncing like some damn-fool boxer. And we're in our fight stances ready to do something crazy like at the end of that Rocky movie when Apollo and Rocky are just about to hit each other and the movie ends. Like that. And we hear this crash right next to us, in the street. A car had hit another car just ten feet away. We weren't looking at the street so we missed seeing it. But we were there when the cops came and asked us for our IDs. And for some fuckin' reason I was agitated at the whole situation. The cops took the IDs but didn't let us leave the scene. I remember just wanting my ID back. I was so jittery about the fact that these cops had my info, and what were they doing with it and it just made my skin crawl to not go back to my drinking. So I kept asking these cops, can I have my ID back... can I get my ID back. I must have asked about 4 times, maybe. So this cop turns to me as I'm asking again and says. "Do yourself a favor... put your hands behind your back." and with that he cuffed me and put me into the back of a police car. That's when I sobered up right quick. I was sitting in there, sweating and feeling sick to death. I had these 2 cops take me to the now-defunked Mission Station on Valencia near 24th Street. They took my glasses and shoe laces and put me in the drunk tank. There I met a guy who was quite a cholo. He was telling me about he got locked up and how much cops hate you when you do crimes. He said, in his heavy cholo accent, "...they look at you like you did something to their family, bro." I think I fell asleep at one point. They kept me there 'til about 3 in the morning and sent me on my way with all my money, looking for cab. I was too drunk to fight that night.