The big fat guy was eating a convenience store ham sandwich. He sprayed pale meat and orange cheese food from his oafish mouth as the little guy drove his hard, sinewy fist into the blubberiest gut I'd every seen. Fatty fell to his knees. It was lunch time, downtown. Nobody stopped. The little guy walked off, arms pumping as if driven by steam. I finished my coffee and watched the rotund attack victim lumber to his feet, chunky bits clinging to his chins.