anyway, even after that, he still seemed interested in fighting.
so he begins to pull off his jacket. problem is, it's one of these ...

trust me, i had no interest in fighting him. none at all. he lived a few streets over from me, we were good friends, his parents knew my parents, and so on. but i mean, HIS FACE WAS BURIED IN A JACKET! i had a wide open shot here. the opportunity was too good to pass up.
days later, at his funeral, that's how i explained it.
his parents were upset, of course, and i didn't blame them. i even admitted at the time that whacking him with the trumpet case was a bit excessive, as was carving my name in his abdomen with a rock. (wearing his jacket to the funeral was also poor judgment.)
I'VE COME A LONG WAY SINCE THEN!