The proverbial sounds of nature. Chirp of birds. Rustled branches of leaves in the breeze. Hip-hop music rattling the license plate on an old car. A child's laughter.
I stepped from the confines of the townhouse. I needed to retrieve my suit from the dry-cleaners and the mail of the day. With no car in the driveway, hoofing it was the only viable option, and one that a Vagabond would enjoy.
With Italian slippers and matching pea-coat. Disheveled hair and beard stubble growth around acute sideburns. I Shamelessly shuffled through the streets. This time of the year the weather is coolly indifferent. Clouds without rain and the crisp air that defines fashion. All of which make, for a pensive walk.
I had a smile on my face.
I see children.
My smile is not there anymore.
As I drew near I over heard their speech.
"Ah girl check this out," said one as she began to gyrate her small buttocks.
The others delighted.
"Ewww. You nasty!" as they mimicked her.
I shuffled by. Demeanor now certainly grimacing.
"Hey mista. I like yo shoes!" said one.
"..........." said I as I continued to walk.
"...Mista! Yo shoes!"
Did this infantile child make a pass at me? A shameful display of juvenile sexual cavorting? Where are these girl's parents? Respect for adults? Or do I not look old enough?
Returning home I dreaded any encounter with a cluster of unaccounted for youth. As I neared they were still gyrating.
"Ooo shit. That's nasty!" said one.
"Where did they get this language? These sensual moves? Tv? Or perhaps the parents who currently are no where in sight?" thought I.
As I passed by I overheard a boy who had joined them say.
"Whoa! Look at those sideburns!"
The girls laughed and for a moment I thought of yelling at them in Portuguese while holding my blade( pocket knife ) to teach them a lesson. Then I thought about the police, and I Shamelessly shuffled along.
I am not a child.
Around this moment I noticed the mail-woman had was delivering packages in the mail boxes. She yelled at me the last time I tried to get mail when she was working. My journey had been distressing enough.
I kept walking.
Next time. I'll drive.