Smoke blown, here.

Blowing Smoke IV


The bonfire was roaring and I was part of the crowd who stood around it enjoying its warmth and attendant activity.  Drummers with Irish bodhrán and African djembe found a hypnotic rhythm; dancers appeared out of the night, ringed the fire and begin to undulate and glide around.

A particularly attractive young woman, moving gracefully and dressed only in a couple of bandannas, had my eye, life was good. Then, as I idly speculated on exactly how the bandannas remained in place, a male voice intruded on my reverie.

Standing a little behind me, some big dude in a cowboy hat was squealing into a cell phone like a teenage girl, “Really?  Really? No Shit?”

I thought, “Good news about some business deal, or a job promotion he’s been sweating, maybe”, the reason he carried a telephone to a celebration of the primitive.

He got louder; “No shit?” and his voice climbed half an octave,  “Holy shit, that’s fantastic!”

“Maybe he’s a new uncle”, thinks I.

So this big yahoo pushes his way past me and through the dancers till he stands near the bonfire. There, he began shouting for quiet and for everyone to “listen up!”

Since I reckoned it  unlikely that he was about to announce a promotion or a new relative to crowd of reveling strangers, I looked to the sky, which was star-filled and negated any chance that he was about to announce a weather emergency.  My hand began slipping inside my coat as he became louder, agitated and more insistent that the drummers stop and everyone listen to what he had to say.

The bandanna honey stopped her eyeful undulations, as did the sexy belly dancers, their pretty girlfriends and the open-nosed boys who dogged them hoping for a miracle. All eyes were now on
Center-of-Attention Man as he loudly proclaimed,
“For you who care about such things, University of Texas just kicked Kansas A&M’s ass!”

Silence.

 At my ear, I heard, “Yayyyy!” and I turn, almost expecting to see a thirteen-year-old girl with a deep voice, rather than the cowboy’s sidekick.
I looked him dead in the eye and told him, “If I gave a fuck about such things, I’d be at home, watching it on TV”.

 

Now, I don’t understand why a sports fan displays a Halloween jack o’ lantern decked out with a professional sports team’s logo and colors any more than I understand why someone would name both his dog and his daughter, “Harley”, and I don’t understand why a grown man would halt a party, complete with comely dancing girls, to announce the goings-on of twenty-two semi-literate coke heads and rapists.
It’s not like they’re kin, you know?

 

 

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