The noise was amazing. It made me think of flocks of birds where every bird is squawking away endlessly. I imagined tossing a rock into the group and causing all 50 heads to turn and yell at me in unison. I didn't toss any rocks.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
A Bunch of Old Men
It's Sunday morning. I was riding my scooter to the laundromat to pick up an IKEA bag full of tightly pressed, fresh-scented garments. I rounded the corner by LIC High School where the football field meets the tennis courts and heard a cacophony of male chatter. Producing this noise was a cluster of leather jackets and grey hair numbering 50 strong. Every man in this group (which was every person in this group) was babbling away to every man around him. It was a mobile mass of conversation, locked into itself by the impenetrable bond of gossip.
The noise was amazing. It made me think of flocks of birds where every bird is squawking away endlessly. I imagined tossing a rock into the group and causing all 50 heads to turn and yell at me in unison. I didn't toss any rocks.
The noise was amazing. It made me think of flocks of birds where every bird is squawking away endlessly. I imagined tossing a rock into the group and causing all 50 heads to turn and yell at me in unison. I didn't toss any rocks.
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I don't know why but I really enjoyed reading this, probably because it gave me flashbacks. When I lived in Brooklyn these group of men were always outside, playing cards like clockwork; in the summertime they were even worst. It also reminded me of when I would visit my friend in Staten Island and her neighborhood had the same type of guys but they were called the "Rosebank Boys" (Rosebank was the name of the neighborhood). So they were cool because they were formal.
ReplyDeleteHa! I loved this. Cute little old New Yorkers. Aside from the actual story itself, I love your writing and your description. You really took me there! Did the men look at all like those birds? If so, I am sad I could not be there.
ReplyDeleteShould have thrown the rock,
Cassie