asconian's blog

Two Madrid cabbies. Two bastards who’ve hated each other for years. Tonight, under the park lights, they finally face off.

Engines off. Doors slammed. Shirts ripped off and thrown to the dirt. Muscles flexing, eyes locked.

Jaime spits to the ground, snarling:

“You’ve been running your mouth for too long, hijo de puta. Tonight I shut it for good.”

Felipe cracks his knuckles, smirking:

“You? You’re nothing. I’ll put you on your knees, cabrón.”

They lunge — fists flying, meat on meat. Jaime’s right hook smashes Felipe’s jaw; Felipe answers with a fist into Jaime’s ribs, hard enough to rattle bone. Grunts, curses, blood spraying with every blow.

“Come on, bitch, hit me harder!” Jaime roars, ramming Felipe against a tree. Felipe drives a knee into his gut, snarling:

“You’re going down, asshole — I’ll break every bone you’ve got!”

They roll in the dirt, clawing, punching, spitting blood in each other’s faces. Felipe’s knuckles split open on Jaime’s cheek. Jaime’s forehead cracks Felipe’s nose. Both are bleeding, both are furious, both refuse to quit.

Sweat, blood, spit — dripping onto the ground as fists keep hammering. Breath ragged, bodies shaking, but still they fight like animals. Every punch is slower now, heavier, more desperate.

Finally, both collapse, side by side, gasping, their faces swollen, eyes blazing with hate. Neither can stand. Neither can claim victory.

Only silence, broken by growls. The war between them is far from over.