“Now, lookit,” Louie said.
I looked up.
“He comes at me with a hard left twice, like this, see?” And Louie lashed out with his left. “You get me?” he asked anxiously, pausing in his shuffle to look over his shoulder, his left arm still outstretched.
“I get you, but let’s get back—”
“All right, then the third time I’m waiting for it. I throw up a block. And what happens? He outguesses me. His right comes across like a pile driver. I manage to duck and—”
“Snap out of it!”
But Louie started dancing again, all around the cellar, his feet stirring up a continual fog of dust as he weaved his shoulders, lashing out quick blows and battering out a blow-by-blow account of his fight. I couldn’t stop him. He was in the ring and I couldn’t get him out. I finally gave up and waited for him to finish. He ended up right in front of me.
“Come on over here. I want to show you. I won’t hurt you, just get yourself in position. That’s right. Now shoot out a right at my chin. Go ahead. Shoot it out. Don’t be afraid. Just give me the works.”
“I’m afraid I could never do it,” I said.
“Shucks,” he said modestly. “It’s easy.”