Your playful slap led to his unprovoked assault. The official report said he threw eight punches, but he insisted it was five. Claims of moving ring from left hand to right were never settled. I entered the toilet block while two friends were holding you up, the three of you standing in a makeshift island of bloodied hand towels. Your eyes were already closed. As you turned for the door I could see the puckered contusions on your face. Half of everyone said you could have died. Years later I saw you at a party, young, handsome, laughing with a beautiful girl. I wondered if they defined you to yourself, those five punches, as they defined you to me.