Firefly Glen due to an internal explosion, it breaks into two parts

The question strikes him out of nowhere like a freight train smashing through a crossing, and he laughs, a quick and sharp bark of surprise.

Aw, come off it, it can't be that bad, cross-eyed, he looks down to his nose. He'd prefer to call it aquiline, maybe, or rakish. If you really want to know, I did get the daylights punched out of me.

He doesn't remember much, or he doesn't want to remember much. Everything before Mollie, he hadn't touched in a long time. Those memories sat inconspicuously in an attic, gathering dust, as he shuffled through the same photo albums again and again. Her dark hair, her blue eyes, her severe frown whenever he'd come home with another bruise blooming dark across his cheek, like linocuts or photo negatives, dark and full of contrast.

T'was a fight over a girl, he muses. Me and this other bloke, we were a bit tipsy. Then, with a wide smile, I got her, in the end.

Whenever he went, he left a trail of bar fights-- an achievement he was endlessly proud of, though some people might've disagreed.