TRIAL BY FIRE
(the crossing guard)
'Those flames, they be licking my feets.
I don't knows how to hop.' They recorded
something like that as the intro to their song.
The Rockin' Bolteranas they called themselves.
You know that heritage roots music stuff, how it
allows perfectly white and serious guys to all of
a sudden become bluesy, minstrel jokers. Those
top-hat honkers so fast on their feet. Makes me
just wish I was a barnyard animal, like I sometimes
would rather be - skatin' around the feed-bin, both
cackling and hacking together. Look up high, and
then look up low, like a barnyard hen, just peeving.
Anyway, by the time I laid down my belt and got to
my seat, at the Lido, I no longer felt so much like a
crossing guard. That's the lamest gig in the world.
That colored slicker and that silly 'Stop' sign on
the handle. I could get killed or run down just
holding it. So, now I have 4 or so hours too kill;
I can hear the ice cream guy's tune truck rising
the hill - glad I'm out of there now.
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