Skeets of Bannerman Park – The Skeet Walking His Dog.
The skinny man was bare-chested. He wore khaki shorts and walked a small, short-haired dog on a leash. The dog was some mix of dachshund and a chihuahua or something similar that would produce a runty almost hairless dog. Neither man nor dog had any fat nor much obvious muscle.
The man approached two much younger and bigger men lying on the grass. They were heavily tattooed and wearing baseball hats. They recognized one another.
“Hello Brother,” said one of the younger men. The other young man laughed in a hard or cynical way. Maybe it was a bit of booze or drugs in his laugh. ” I don’t remember your name,” he said to the older man holding the dog leash, but laughing he said, “I remember your dog’s name.”
“Gerard,” said the older man with the dog, “My name is Gerard.” His face was so lined as to be shriveled. As if he didn’t hear the older man, the younger man lying on the grass continued on with his thought.
” Tara” he said, “Your dog’s name. . .Tara. It’s the same as my ex-girlfriend. I’ll always remember that.” The young skeet laying on the grass laughed again.
Young Skeets
There are also young Skeets in Bannerman Park.
Before school closed for the summer a group of a dozen kids would gather by the snack bar after school. The boys and girls looked to be in grade 7 or 8 or maybe grade 9. A few had bikes. A couple had scooters. They would goof around and practice cussing.
One day a chubby skeet girl with rosy cheeks was chasing a young skeet boy who was riding a scooter. He had a baseball hat on backwards and he’d obviously done something to piss off the chubby girl with the rosy cheeks. There was an old guy sitting on the bench by the clock and the chubby skeet girl with rosy cheeks raced past him and the skeet on the scooter was trying to get away. He was leaning over the handlebars of the scooter and one leg was pounding the pavement, going like piston. She was bigger than he was and she was closing the gap and you knew if she caught the skeet on the scooter something bad was going to happen to the skeet on the scooter.
She was running and getting close to catching him and his leg was going as fast as it could, pushing and pushing and pushing trying to get away. And, then he began to inch away and the gap widened and then the angry chubby skeet girl with the rosy cheeks accepted that she wasn’t going to catch him and punch him or whatever angry skeet girls do and she slowed down and stopped running and yelled at him as loud as she could, “Go Fuck Your Mom.” If anyone ever produces a skeet ballet one of the dances should be called, Go Fuck Your Mom.
For more Skeets of Bannerman Park, also see,
Skeets of Bannerman Park – An Intro
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