Don’t Walk, Walk
My blood is still young, but it’s inspiringto hang out with young blood, catching glimpses of former and current self, maybe future. Two blocks into the journey on the way to pizza we awkwardly-nice-nodded and “Hello’d” an elder lady on a front porch as her yippy dog went nuts at the fence. A fence I’d admired a beautiful almost hand-crafted “Beware of Dog” sign wired to for the past three years. She replied in kind confidence, as if it was an everyday scripted event, “Are you boys in a band or something!?” The boys all said, “Uh, wha?….Uh, I…ummmm…We’re going to look at art?” I pointed at one of them and proudly boasted (trying to telepath the truth to the lady that this kid has something special brewing in his basement back home, even on You Tube), “Well, this guy is, but the rest of us aren’t.” I realized that my words were barely audible over the full volume yips penetrating the air. And the elder lady said the following as we stopped in our tracks because it’s impolite to keep walking when somebody is talking to you (per situation and circumstance of course, and she seemed ok and we could have taken her if rough stuff came down), “Are you all sure you’re not in a band or something?! Because, you look like you’re in a band or something. At least I think you do look like you’re in a band…or something?” We all passed by giggling for the next three and a half hours. There indeed was something…something in the night. -djg