A busker playing the trumpet, offers to let a passer-by his drum. The man, accepts, beating the drum to his own tune, a melody that while out of synch with the trumpet player, seems to fit. The soulful tunes of the trumpet echo throughout the mall, and the slap of hand on drum bounces from the walls. I wander past, the drummer dances, the trumpet player continues his tune, and people watch as they pass.
An argument erupts â€“ it seems the drummer’s tune isn’t appreciated by all. This is to be expected, different musical tastes, and the testosterone flow induced by the consumption of alcohol makes those tastes into challenges for some people. The argument escalates, the music stops and instead, the sounds of shouting replace the tune.
Returning from my journey, I pass the group again, and wonder what the argument is truly about â€“ I won’t ever know, and other than this story, I’m likely never to think about it again. Continuing on, I hope for the music to return, but alas, it is replaced by another sound.
Bass travels further than treble, having a slower frequency that travels through the air further. The flat slap of fist on face has little treble, and is easily recognised to anyone that’s felt or heard its sound before. The sound repeats, and I turn. A scuffle has broken out, as happens with groups of alcohol-fueled people having a difference of opinion. Reason and logic are rare in today’s society, and this is only made worse by such circumstances.
I watch for a second. Girls, seeming to be friends of part of the group are screaming for the fight to stop, and friends of the fighters are pulling them apart. With the police presence in the area, the fight will not continue for long, so resign myself to the fact that this will just be another scuffle of many tonight around the city, and continue on my journey back to work, to type up this tale.