Friday, September 2, 2016

boyhood sketch 5. MONEY PANTS

here we were maybe 8 and 3 yrs
I was ten when Murray was five. He was a beautiful boy with long curly blond hair. I had already aged out of long hair and never had curls, waves maybe. He wanted to follow me everywhere, and only as he grew older did I welcome him. Two houses up the street from our home at 10 Clark Street was a lane entrance to the Legion Hall and a large parking lot. One late afternoon, Murray and I wandered there. Men came out of the Hall after some drinks and they saw Murray. He was an attraction to them, wearing tiny army fatigue trousers with pockets down the sides of the legs, and that curly hair of course. They were inebriated, and this was one time that being drunk paid off, for Murray that is. The tipsy men told Murray to hold his pockets open to see if they could throw money into them. Everything he caught, he could keep they said. They threw coins, nickels, dimes and quarters and fifty-cent pieces. His pants became heavy with cash. Then one man said, "Let's get his pants." Murray took off, faster than Usain Bolt and was home before the men stopped laughing. They had fine entertainment at a reasonable price. And me? No curly hair and no cash.

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