60 THRASHER
New Kid in-Town
A late August sunset cast an orange glow across the medium-sized
southside park. Carrying a six-pack of beer, the Kid stumbled awkward-
ly toward the far corner. At their usual spot on the lone picnic table,
under a tree, the gang sat scrutinizing him.
Davis had a jelly beer gut and an overgrown bowl haircut. He gaped at
the Kid. "Who the hell is that?"
Neal's shirt was unbuttoned, revealing thick chest hair. He had a dense,
reddish-brown mustache. He crushed their empty beer carton with his
fist. "I don't know, but it looks like he gets some beer, and we're out."
Ron had no shirt on, showing off his powerful, tanned chest. He stood,
stamping his foot against the table seat. "If it's a weasel, I wanna beat
his head in! I feel like beatin' someone's head in."
Shane was thin and lanky, but strong, and he had long black hair. He
hopped from his seat to get a better look. "Me, too, man, I'm bored!"
Ron smacked his palm against the tree. "He best watch what he says to
me. I feel like poundin' on someone."
Shane booted the tin garbage can in agreement.
Neal stretched. "I don't know if you ought to go poundin' on 'im, but
we'll definitely run a good game on 'Im, cool?"
Grudgingly, they shrugged.
"Mind if I hang out here with you guys?"
The gang all gandered at the Kid. He was on the tall side, but he wasn't
tall. He was wearing brand new denim jeans and a spitty green football
jersey. The gang wore faded jeans and shredded T-shirts. His hair was
dirty blond, and his face, entirely unlike theirs, had a certain ignorant
innocence about it.
Neal cracked a smile. "Ya gonna share yer beer?"
Left: Royce Nelson stands his line on the Cancer cop-
ing by drawing quick, shooting clean, and hitting the
mark. Photo by Luke Ogden
Right: As the war machine grinds to a halt, Satva
Leung makes use of a dormant military base.
Photo by Bryce Kanights
"Oh, you guys ain't got none?"
"Don't answer my questions with questions! I asked, are ya gonna
share yer beer?"
The Kid's face was pearl white. "Sure, I'll share. No problem."
Ren ripped the six-pack from the Kid's hand. "That's good! I, for one,
am damned glad to hear it!" Rom passed a beer to each of the other
four, took one for himself, and turned to the Kid. "You want one, too?"
"It is my beer."
Ron sent the last can spiralling at the Kid. He tumbled nervously to
catch the spinning can, but dropped it. He bent to pick it up off of the
grass, then sat at the table. The others swooped in; it was time to play.
"Ya know who we are?" Neal snarled.
"Who are you?"
Sneering, Shane asked, "Is that all you know how to do, answer
questions with questions?"
A ripple of laughter shook the muggy air.
"We're bad," Davis informed. "What makes you think you're bad
enough to hang with us?"
"Haven't you guys heard about me?"
Ron howled, "Another question with a question!" One more time, and
I'll rip yer lower lip off!"
The Kid groped for composure. "My picture was in the paper. I went to
jail for attacking police dogs."
Neal's eyes bugged. "What?"
Ren mocked, "You gotta be kidding!"
"It's true! The cops had me cornered in an alley, and they sent their
dogs in after me, and I kicked their butts!"
Billy had very short hair and a boyish face. He spoke for the first time.
61