One chilly night in London town,
In two-thousand-nine as sun went down,
A man named Chris, just twenty-three,
Went out for food and company.
He brought a date to end the night,
McDonald’s glowed with yellow light.
It wasn’t grand, nor fancy fare,
But it was all that he could bear.
He had no cash for things divine,
But smiled and said, “Will this be fine?”
She gave a nod with gentle grace,
They queued up slow to find their place.
The crowd was loud, the tables packed,
Romance, it seemed, was what they lacked.
But in the corner sat a guy,
With two spare seats—oh me, oh my.
Chris asked, “Mind if we sit here?”
The stranger said, “Yeah, sure, no fear.”
They sat and ate with little fuss,
But tension soon would visit us.
For as they talked of dreams and days,
The stranger cast an awful gaze.
He stared at Chris’s date with scorn,
His eyes were cold, his face forlorn.
And then he spat words sharp and cruel,
As if he followed some dark rule.
He mocked her voice, her looks, her grace,
A twisted sneer across his face.
Then came the line, a hateful dig—
He called her ugly, called her pig.
Chris stood, though scared, his hands now tight,
Prepared to rise and face a fight.
He’d never fought a man before,
But now he wouldn’t take much more.
He yelled, “Stand up!” and clenched his fist,
But knew not quite who he had missed…
The man stood up—he rose like towers,
His height and size, like Titan powers.
Yet Chris, still bold, swung just one time,
Before the stranger turned to crime.
He beat poor Chris without delay,
In front of all in foul display.
Then left as if he’d won some game,
No cops, no justice, just his shame.
The next day dawned with aching head,
A job interview just up ahead.
Chris dressed up sharp and hoped to hide
The bruises swelling near his eye.
He looked and sighed, “This isn’t good—
No boss would hire me, who would?”
But still he walked with wounded pride,
And let the world not see inside.
They saw the black eye, that was true,
But no one asked, “What happened to you?”
He nailed his lines, he did his best,
Though tension lingered in his chest.
He left the room with heavy heart,
Not knowing he had nailed the part.
For this was not some office gig,
But casting for a role that’s big.
A rugged role, a fighter’s face—
And Chris looked perfect for that place.
He had the grit, he had the tone,
He had the bruise to make it known.
They saw him and the stars aligned,
A better pick they’d never find.
From fast food booths and painful nights,
He soared into the TV lights.
That role he played? A warrior bold,
With cloak of black in freezing cold.
A name the world would come to know—
A hero fierce, named Jon Snow.
Now Golden Globes and Emmy nods,
Would follow him against the odds.
But never would he quite forget,
That night when pain and fate had met.
So if you’re down and feeling small,
Remember Chris, who rose from fall.
One black eye from a brutal fight—
Became the spark that lit his light.