"Are you waiting for someone famous?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes, glancing down at the camera slung around my neck.
"Only you," I replied with a smile, quickly swinging the body up and firing off a shot before he even had a chance to flinch.
And then he attacked!
A lesser street photographer would have been knocked senseless by the savagery and swiftness of the strikes sent in his or her direction but I had prepared for this moment well; my training in the hidden deserts of the Americas and the mountains that hinder the approach to sunken R'lyeh kicked in. I warded off his initial assault, not wishing to do him any harm and hoping that he would see reason and slink away, but it was to no avail; that twinkle in his eyes was now just madness.
I could give you the details of every move I made as I reluctantly turned defence into attack but such a narrative would be only of interest to the masters of Street Fu. Let us merely say that inside half of a minute my assailant was no more; nothing was left except a few scuff marks on the flagstones and a smear against the wall that were you to press your nose against and sniff deeply you might discern some trace of the tangy iron that permeates our veins.
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