[CRIME] threw cordless telephone across room, shattering window and frightening passers-by [PUNISHMENT] $85.00 repair bill; girlfriend moved out immediately [CRIME] punched wall, twice, in rapid succession [PUNISHMENT] multiple bruises: 1. bruised ego (the wall's fine -- damn, he hit that thing hard enough that the plaster should have caved in, at least a little. he must have hit a stud); 2. his hand turned really lovely shades of blue, purple and green, and hurt like a sonofabitch. this, of course, made it hard to pack cigarettes, turn a sock inside out, open the cat food, or even put his hand in his damn pocket. also, contributed greatly to girlfriend leaving. [CRIME] walking down haight street, accidentally kicked a stick into a homeless mohawked punk leaning up against a wall just as the guy was asking for spare change [PUNISHMENT] luckily, the punk either didn't notice or didn't mind. the real punishment was the realization for Cone that he no longer had the cajones he possessed in his early twenties. he was scared, just for a split second, that the guy would get up and kick his ass, whereas seven or eight years ago Cone probably would have invited the confrontation. gone were the days when he'd break into a dealer's house (a dealer who carried a gun and, rumor had it, used it) in order to get the money he'd given the guy without getting anything in return. gone were the days of 100-mph semi-sober helmetless motorcycle excursions. in their place were the comfort of being in love, good humor and good sex (on a regular basis), too much tv, paying attention to professional sports (what the FUCK was he thinking?), good friends, and (sometimes) good wine. a different, safer, kind of happiness, yes, where he had something to lose and was afraid to lose it. as is often the case, however, that probably contributed to his losing it. [CRIME] told way too many people way too many things [PUNISHMENT] remains to be seen... [CRIME] punched wall (see above) [PUNISHMENT] some 10 days later, his fucking hand STILL hurt. if it weren't for aspirin and alcohol, it'd be throbbing all the time. kind of reminded him of when he was in junior high, and even high school, and he'd lower the basketball hoop in his backyard to about 8 feet, so he could perform various dunks -- tomahawks, reverse jams, alley oops -- by bouncing the ball off the backboard and catching it and stuffing it, etc. (most of the time, he was alone, so there wouldn't be anybody else to pass it the ball to him. but he got pretty good at going off the backboard, or one-hopping it against the wall and swooping in for those impressive monster dunks.) anyway, if he liked some girl, and wanted her to like him back, he wouldn't risk actually INTERACTING with her by, say... talking to her, or even having somebody else tell her he liked her. no, what he'd do is tell himself that IF he made, oh, 10 dunks in a row, without fucking up, THEN somehow she would magically like him. not that the girl would ever know it -- she wasn't there, after all -- but it would all be reduced to a simple "if-then" statement, which must have been what he was learning about in math whenever he started down this walter mitty lifeline. anyway, on more than one occasion he would accidentally jam his fingers into the rim, which produced a lasting, dull throb, much like the one the wall had produced. he remembered having sore fingers once in the silent presence of one of those objects of affection, the girl for whom he was performing his 10 flawless dunks, and thinking "damn, she isn't worth the pain, really." but so far, with his current sore hand, that thought hadn't entered his mind. [CRIME] stopped eating, started smoking again [PUNISHMENT] devilish good looks, a new air of sophistication...