I’m walking into city hall this morning behind two old men, dressed like they’re meeting with the mayor. A third old man in a lime track suit exits from a secondary entrance where people pay fines and apply for permits, his arms full of documents.
A sudden gust of wind blows a receipt out of the contractor’s collection. All three old man go feral, widening their stances and lifting their arms just slightly out to their sides, as if preparing to wrestle. Ties are blowing dramatically in the wind. The old men, their primal lizard brains firing, box the receipt in against a wall with adept footwork.
They’re instinctively hunting as a pack and don’t even realize it. The tallest old man, in the middle, swiftly strikes out with one loafer-clad hoof and pins the receipt to the concrete. The contractor, crouched low in a power stance, fires out a claw and snatches the receipt from under his pack-mate’s paw.
They all three look at each other, breathing a little heavier, but smiling. They tuck in shirts and smooth down ties. One of them is limping slightly.
“Thank you,” says the old contractor. The old suits nod. Deep deep down in their DNA, they were howling together.
I wanted to hug all of them and howl with them and roam the alleys for prey… but we all had somewhere to be.
Eric, I have probably told this story to you before, but when you write your novel, this would be a good inclusion about a crusty old codger like Grandpa.
…The young whipper snapper pulls up and sarcastically says, “Jack, why didn’t you build your house back in the woods? “. Jack calmly answers, “Had I know you would find me, I would have built further back than I did.”
I want you to remember this but I did not know where to put it so I thought this might be a good place . You know Jack was sensitive when people complained about how far out we lived and how steep the hill was.
I don’t know why I felt it was important to tell this to you. I suppose I have heard people say they should have asked more questions of their ancestors.
Love you.