Shots ring out. Someone is dead. Blood flows from a single hole in the middle of a stranger’s forehead. Crying, a toddler asks his mommy: “Is that man really dead?”
As to answer the lad’s question, a pine box is ushered from the shadows, the dead guy is stuffed inside and is whisked from the street. The casket it stood against a nearby fence and its contents are displayed to warn out-of-towners that their nonsense will not be tolerated.
Believe me, there are times when I would like nothing better than to place a
bullet in some hemorrhoid’s forehead, but that particular afternoon last July that hemorrhoid was me and I had the experience of being stuffed inside a box. Let me tell you, it’s creepy and a little bit terrifying – not because I was the dead guy, but we had built the casket the night before and I was wishing to my lucky stars that the bottom wouldn’t fall out and I would end up on the sidewalk.
But that’s a risk of being the bad guy. And what a bad guy I was. Limp Along Larry’s the name, making kids cry is the game. I mean, I made two kids cry! Only one was part of the act. I wish a picture exists of his expression when I popped his balloon and drew my six-shooter on him and robbed his candy. Now I know where the saying comes from, it is easy and it’s fun, especially when a boatload of onlookers boo, hiss and call you nasty names. Alas, it takes a special breed to be a turd in the punchbowl.
My day would have been perfect if the kid’s dad wasn’t
around. The humorless fellow had to go and defend his son’s honor. Heck, if he hadn’t let the kid walk down the sidewalk by himself, he wouldn’t have had to challenge me to a duel. I mean, I was teaching the kid a lesson: the world is a dangerous place you know.
Not that I was worried about a duel, I had never lost. I thought the fellow was a dead man walking and that his kid was an orphan in the making. Heck, even if he got a lucky shot in, I had a nasty surprise in store. On a nearby balcony, I had my right-hand man. If something happened to me, well… I never expected that the good guy would get two lucky shots in. My pardo ended up dead too!
Oh, that second crying kid. He thought I was really dead. It took me eventually walking from the casket to prove that I was alive and that the gunfight was just a bunch of silly grown-ups playing. Between me and you, I can’t wait to he gets older and learns about zombies. We could have fun with that!
Who knows what will happen on a mid-summer’s afternoon this July?