As I crawled through the hallway on my feet and safety, a group of hooligans punched my ear with a discussion of reckless revelry over by the pop machine. “I heard this and that” one young gun said as if you can put out a fire by ignoring it. Their demeanor was enthusiastically callow. Jonesing for a better listen, I moved closer.

The group had chatter only seen by those with something to prove and nothing to do, and they lounged about like the dimming sun on a summer evening, except cracked out of it’s gourd. It was one of those days where I stayed unconvinced that eyes move, so I was particularly thrown off by the vigor with which their heir apparent leaders’ eyes shimmied all over the room. Don’t forget to buy eggs. “Zim Zimma,” their mouths or something said.

“Naw, man my Aunt lives in The Big City, and she heard hooves running through her living room one night. HOOVES. So the next morning when she goes to check it out, there are big matted down parts on her carpet where the hooves would be.

And there ain’t no animals with hooves in her hood! Fuckin’ freaky.”

“DopeDopeDopeDopeDopeDopeDope.”

My legs popped like rubber bands as I went for the door, but Sinead O’Connor was playing on the stereo so I relinquished any hope of spiritual release from the hoodlums. I was tense all the way through to the fillings in my teeth so my pace quickened. To any onlookers with severe vision impairments I looked like a Chinese rickshaw-puller. The door gave way and my hearty laughter spilled out onto the cool evening sidewalk.

*POP* went the machine.

–Reg

—

Sometimes when Reggie is being funny he will call me The Reginator! What a funny guy! I don’t know where he gets his sense of humor, but I bet it’s his mom. He likes to tell us what a funny lady his mommy is, and how she always used to crack them up when he and his siblings were youngsters. Boy, what a crazy family!

Just the other day, Reggie told us a story about when mom took him to the zoo. They prowled the park, tourists in their own town. Reggie had never seen wildlife like this before! As they passed the various animal cages, Ms. Reggie would comment on whatever was housed inside.

“Look, Reggie,” she would say, more with her cigarette-nursing fingers than her mouth. “There is the great wallabee, of the family macropodidae. Don’t let the term wallabee fool you, however, as it can be used to describe any macropod of moderate size. And look over there, your father is cleaning the bathrooms.”

Reggie is a weird guy.