While trying to figure out the difference between incidental and intended third party beneficiaries, I heard a remarkably loud noise.  At first I assumed my upstairs neighbor had just drunkenly stumbled into his apartment.  I understand that feeling, where you simply want to fall down as soon as you're back to the safety of home.  Something about intoxication creates that desire in a person.  Nothing feels better than knowing you'll wake up in the floor of a familiar setting the next day instead of a Taco Cabana bathroom.  You usually only have enough energy, if you've done the job properly before "last call," to walk about three steps into your apartment before collapsing.
    Then I heard another loud bang.  Once again, I dismissed the noise, assuming maybe he got up for a second, then remembered that walking is very hard.  A few people occasionally believe they still possess the abilities that sober people take for granted, then quickly surrender to the obvious.
    On hearing the third bang, I decided to investigate.  It was slowly becoming obvious that the noises were not coming from my upstairs neighbor, but from the apartment next to mine.  Under the guise of having a casual smoke, I stepped outside.
    Apparently my apartment is slightly soundproof, as I immediately heard various expletives being hurled back and forth.  What I thought were the simple sounds of frustrated inebriation were in fact a full-fledged domestic dispute.
    Party A was an angry female, clad only in a floral print bathrobe.  Party B was an equally angry male wearing, to be expected, a white "wife beater" and black pants.  The two seemed to be in disagreement over Party B's desire to take the car somewhere.  Evidently, the car belonged to Party A, yet Party B decided he wanted to drive it.  Party A did not want Party B driving and would not give up the keys.  Party B desperately wanted those keys.
    It was when the physical struggle began that I became concerned about how I should react.  I'm well aware that, legally, I have no duty to do anything.  At this point in my educational career, I've read various stories about the bystander effect, or Genovese Syndrome.  Genovese Syndrome was aptly titled after a famous feline-named female by the name of Kitty Genovese.  Not to be confused with other famous Kittys throughout history (Anne Frank's "Dear Kitty," Hello Kitty, Kitty Wells, etc.), Genovese is famous for the circumstances of her murder.
    Kitty was raped, robbed and repeatedly stabbed while some of her neighbors supposedly looked on.  The sexual assault and murder took place over a period of half an hour, with the assailant at one point leaving.  He later returned (supposedly having put on a hat in the meantime) and finished the job.  The original news report stated that 38 people did nothing, however that figure has since been revised to less than a dozen.
    As I watched these two strangers struggle over car keys, I pondered what I should do as a semi-concerned citizen.  It was during that thought process that I wondered if I was an awful person.
    Option #1 was to attempt to stop the situation myself.  I quickly nixed that idea, realizing that both Party A and Party B were sizable people.  I'm no coward, but it's pretty bad when you'd lose a fight to the woman involved as fast as you would to the man.
    Option #2 was to yell something at the two.  Not words of encouragement, obviously, but something like "Hey, stop what you're doing" or "It's 1 in the morning, cut it out" or even "I hear you can customize your Grand Slam at Denny's now, we should all go there together."  I nixed this idea as well, as Option #2 would inadvertently lead to Option #1.
    Option #3 was to call the police.  This is the option I pondered the longest, as it was the option which affected me most.  Clearly, I would have to go back into my apartment if I wanted to call the cops, which would involve me opening and closing my sliding door.  At this point, neither party realized I was watching, yet they would be alerted to my presence when they heard the noise.  This would result in probably my own tragic demise, as the winner of the fight would probably want to murder all witnesses as well.
    Then I began to think even more selfishly.  If I call the cops and they show up, I have to talk to the cops.  This requires me giving a statement.  If Party B actually kills Party A, I might have to go to the police station.  Then I'd have to testify at a trial.  Then I might have to testify at the sentencing phase of the trial too.  This moment in time could result in a lot of added grief to my already busy schedule.
    I started thinking about those neighbors of Genovese again.  Did all of those people do the same thing I was presently doing?  Did they weigh the pros and cons of getting involved?  I couldn't just stand there and watch these people duke it out.  I had to do something proactive.
    I decided to go to the Denny's across the street.  I walked right by the two, who at this point had stopped fighting, and to my vehicle.  I even said "Who's up for Denny's?" in a rather cheerful tone as I walked by.  I had gone with secret Option #4, which combined aspects of Option #2 with the fact that I was rather hungry at that particular time.
    As I type this on my laptop following a deliciously personalized Grand Slam, the two people I previously saw fighting have just walked into the same Denny's as me.  They seem to be over their scuffle, no longer wearing robes and wifebeaters.  They're even holding hands.  So in my own remarkably retarded way, I managed to defuse a domestic dispute.  Or society's love of Denny's did.  Either way, one question remains:
    Who ended up driving?