Date night with Dog the Bounty Hunter

I don't even know how to start writing this story. My head is still reeling. All I can say is that it was the most memorable date night ever.

As stories like this go the more people see it, the better it gets. Here's the story from my point of view. 

It was a quiet evening and Michael and I were sitting in our living room watching The Biggest Loser. We had decided to stay in rather than go out because his allergies had been giving him grief all day and he was exhausted. 

As we sat relaxing on the sofa I suddenly found that it was getting hard to breathe. Each breath I took felt like tiny needles were pricking the insides of my lungs. I started to cough, and cough and cough some more. I was about to get up to get a drink of water when Michael started coughing too. As I struggled to the sink I started to think of what could possibly be going on. The last time I had experienced something like this we were in Thailand and had accidentally walked into the kitchen when they were flash-frying chili peppers. The spices in the air had left us coughing and sputtering and wanting to curl up on the floor in fits of agony. 

Trying to escape the toxic air inside our apartment we made our way out onto our front porch only to find a more than disheveled man making his way up the stairs. 

"Please, call the cops!" he said coming toward me. "Please! Can I come in and use your phone? Please!?" 

I took a moment to look this stranger over. He was in his late 40's early 50's. An islander. Long stringy black hair that was starting to grey. He was wearing a tank top with what looked to be sports tape wrapped around his torso, as if he had broken a few ribs and tried to fix it himself. Blue checkered shorts. No shoes. Conclusion: He looked a little homeless and more than a little desperate. 

As I sat there wondering what Jesus would do, I saw another man languidly coming up the steps behind him. His assailant perhaps? I took a step back towards our front door and seriously considered harboring the man who continued to ask us for use of our telephone. I took one more quick glance at the man coming up behind. 

He was tall. Dressed in black and wearing a vest of some sort. He had something shiny on his chestand had handcuffs tucked into the back of his pants. Conclusion: He kind of looked like a cop. Why then was this man asking us to call one? Interesting. Quick realization. If he the man in black had  handcuffs, he may have a gun too.  

"I'll call the cops for you, but I'm sorry. We can't let you inside," I said as I stepped back into the house with Michael right behind me. He locked the door and the coughing redoubled.

"We (cough) need (cough) to call (cough) the cops." Silence, minus the coughing. "Honey?" I asked. 

"Hi," said Michael on the phone behind me. "I'm at (insert address here) and there's a man outside who asked us to call the police. There's something in the air that's making it hard for us to breathe. That's why I'm coughing. Uh hu. Uh hu. Ok." 

Meanwhile, I heard my name being called from our lanai.

"Summer! Come out here, the air is better." It was our neighbor, Maria. She and her husband, brother and two little girls were out on their lanai as well. "Go get a wet cloth and hold it over your mouth. It helps a lot." 

I ducked inside again to grab a towel. People were still yelling outside our front door. Every few seconds I heard the middle aged man yell, "Call the cops! You've got the wrong guy!" and I hear the tall dark creature respond, "Then why did you run man?" 

I headed back to the porch and started breathing thru the cloth. Michael was still inside on the phone with the police so I called him outside where we sat and chatted with our neighbors for a while, trying to sort out what was going on. Before long curiosity overtook me and gunman or no I make my way back to the front of the apartment. 

From the safety of our front room Michael and I witnessed this. I've cut out most of the colorful language for PG-13 viewing. 

Needless to say, it was a date night we won't soon forget.