I USED TO KICK DOORS

"I used to kick doors."

"What do you mean? Like, you were a cop and used to kick down doors to get into people's flats?"

"No, just, you know, doors in my house -- the bedroom door, the kitchen."

Silence. They both sip at their pints.

"I would get irritated, furious, really, at small stuff, and would explode into a rage and kick the doors. You can see some of the damage if you go to my place."

"It's OK. I get that way sometimes."

"You kick doors too?"

"No. I get aggravated easily. Because of small stuff."

"Like what?"

"Things that don't work, for example."

"Me too. And what do you do?"

"I try to fix them."

"No, I mean, what do you do, instead of kicking doors?"

"I just get aggravated, that's all. One more?"

The guy nods and Peter waves at the barman for another round of beer.

"But you said it in the past."

"Sorry, what?"

"That you 'used' to kick doors."

"Yeah."

"You don't anymore?"

"No."

"What do you do, instead?"

"Nothing. I just work on my temper."

"Good for you."

"Yeah."

"I'd like that too."

The barman drops two pints in front of them, spilling some beer on the counter. No coasters were provided. They taste their beers.

"You know, the other day, I was in the park. There was this man in a Dennis Rodman tank top, goatee, full of tattoos, and I wondered: could I beat the shit out of the guy? If we were in a fight, would the guy's tough looks make a difference? Could he still knock me out if I delivered, for example, a quick succession of heavy blows to the guy's head? Maybe I could move faster than him. The trick was to not let the guy land any blows on me, right? The element of surprise could be to my advantage..."

A quick sip and Peter continues. 

"The guy's wife would be screaming and running to protect their baby. But if I left the guy unconscious, I could take care of her after..."

"This is what you think about in the park?"

"Not always."

"But you don't kick doors?"

"No. What's the point?"

"I go to the park a lot, too."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. To cool off, mostly."

"Instead of kicking doors?"

"I guess."

"That's nice."

"Maybe you should try."

"I already go to the park a lot."

"No. To cool off."

"I am. I'm not the one who goes around kicking his bedroom door!"

"No, you're the one who plans to take down a dad in front of his wife and child!"

"It was just a 'what if' situation! What would I do if I had to take him down."

"Why would you have to take him down?"

"Maybe he was a criminal."

"I'd call the police."

"Well, what if you didn't have a phone with you?"

"I would discreetly walk away and find a way to warn the police that there was a dangerous criminal in the park with his wife and child."

"What if there was a crime in progress?"

"I would still try to get someone to call the police."

Silence. A long sip this time.

"What do you do in life?"

"I'm an attorney. You?"

"Same."

"Of course, who else comes to this Pub?"

They smile, clink their pints and drink, turning their attention briefly to their phones.

"How did this conversation start, anyway?"

"You were talking about doors on the phone."

"You're right. Sorry."

Silence.

"We're replacing our front door."

"I got that."

"The wife doesn't feel safe in our neighbourhood anymore."

"Why?"

"No real reason. A general feeling, I guess. You married?"

"Not really."

"How's that?"

"I never got around to marry someone."

"No, I mean, you said 'not really', like, you could be married but aren't, but could."

"Yeah, it's like that."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to pry."

"It's OK."

"Does it have anything to do with you kicking the doors in the house?"

"No. I've always lived alone."

"But surely, you had someone over..."

"Sure, but I've never kicked a door in front of someone."

"I see. Anyway, we're getting a new front door. Three locks!"

"Better safe than sorry!"

Silence.

"But it's not easy, you know?"

"Replacing a door?"

"Self-control."

"I know."

"The Stoics preached that the only thing you can control is your mind and if you control your mind, nothing can really bother you; because things outside your mind have no real influence on you; it's how you let yourself react to those things that can make you miserable; if you just decide that it doesn't really matter, all trouble ends; or something like that. But sometimes, it still gets to me and I really have to fight the instinct to kick the doors or maybe punch the walls."

"Oh, you used to do that too?"

"No."

"I did."

"You what? You just told me you never kicked any doors."

"Yes. But once in a while a punch or two at the wall, not the doors, it's a way of venting off."

"Or going to the park to pick up a fight?"

"No. I go to the park to exercise."

"Isn't it the same?"

"Not really."

"You're strange, mate. Where're you from?"

"France. I'm bilingual though."

"Can't tell an accent. Good for you."

Another sip.

"Do you feel like doing it when you're in court?"

"What?"

"Kick something."

"No. It's only the small things that get me angry."

"You don't get that in court? The small aggravating things, I mean."

"Not usual, no."

"I do. All the time."

"And what do you do? Turn your back on the jury and walk to the park?"

"No, I mostly work at the Magistrate's Court."

"I see."

One more sip. Peter contemplates his fellow drinker.

"Do you work at a top law firm?"

"I guess you can call it that."

"Which one?"

Instead of an answer, a business card is produced. Peter reads it.

"Impressive."

Peter puts the card in his wallet and hands his own to his colleague.

"Thanks."

"If I ever need an attorney, I'll call you."

"If you take that guy down in the park, you better have a great excuse. I'm not that good."

"Noted. And if you find a solution, please let me know."

"A solution for?"

"Self-control."

"You too."

"Cheers!"

"Cheers!"

They drink.