Friday, September 19, 2003

Return to Sender

Last night I left my apartment around 11 (Thursday is bowling night), and I had with me a check to mail to the bank for deposit. There was a group of about 10 kids hanging out on the corner. I say "kids," but really they could have been anywhere from 15 to 30 for all I knew. I'd love to use a word like "hoodlums," or "hooligans," or perhaps "street urchins," "ne'er-do-wells" or "layabouts," because those are all fun words, but I know my neighborhood pretty well and these guys are harmless. We're not talking Jets and Sharks here. Though it would be totally cool if they danced.

Anyway, one of these "punks" (hee) was sitting on top of the mailbox. I was talking on my cell phone, so I only had one hand free and was mid-conversation, so I just held up the letter and tilted my head at him. He got it and said, "Oh, sorry...." And then didn't get off the mailbox.

He spread his legs.

It seemed pretty gay for a young "miscreant," frankly, so I was a bit taken aback. I also had to get this check in the mail, so I called his bluff. Using my one free hand, I reached between his legs, opened the box (the mailbox, sickos) and dropped in the envelope, then casually went on my way to the subway, bracing myself for catcalls of "fag" that never came.

All things considered, it's probably for the best that my hot pink bowling shirt was in my bag. And a little bit of a shame that the "scamp" wasn't cuter.

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