The start of another short story I will never complete.

I put down the book I was reading and looked out my bedroom window. There were two men fighting in the middle of the street. It was clear that neither of them knew how to fight. They flailed a lot, and they kicked a lot, but any contact they made was glancing, and caused little damage except to make them flail and kick even more furiously.

If they knew how to fight I probably wouldn't have called 911, but there is nothing I hate worse than ineptitude in any form, and they were certainly inept, so therefore I had no choice but to make the phone call.

A woman with a manly voice answered my 911 call. I was nonplussed for a second but decided, even before I spoke, that a manly voice, especially if you were a woman, could be a plus for a 911 operator.