Typical mismatch of a slightly dim, intellectually unburnished schoolyard bully and his evil twin handler, patrolling the schoolyard in the late afternoon, trolling for stragglers and easy pick en’s.

And then there was the local posse. A rat pack of toss-a-way’s, sidelined rocketeers, that had been waylaid by a 1960’s hangover, survived for another go around 10 years later, and somehow walked away from an irreversible tail spin to end up in the same carousel I had by an urge of fate declared my home.

I crossed the street because I was afraid. I was afraid to walk past this man in a black weather torn leather jacket who was with another woman, and a tall lanky dark tanned Indian, all three kind of sprawled on someone’s  front lawn, with their feet visiting the pavement. The man in particular had…