Sunday Afternoon Picnic

I was driving the (Route) Eight a couple weeks ago, when I found myself stopped at the traffic light on the corner of 8th Street East and Cumberland Avenue.  From my perspective, I could see clear into Cumberland Park which is located across from where I was halted.

Through the trees, I could see a couple young lovers rolling around in the grass.  One was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt, while the female appeared to be clad, head-to-toe, in a white gown, of some sort.  They appeared quite frisky, which took me by surprise with the crowds also enjoying the park.  Then again, all the other families were clear across the park, enjoying the shade of the taller trees.

"Awe. Young love." I thought to myself, quietly.  No sooner had I thunk those thoughts than things suddenly turned from frisky to frantic.  Now I saw the white dress sitting on top of the fella in the yellow tee and instead of romantic gestures, the person on top was feeding the guy in yellow, and it wasn't ham sandwiches, but some of a knuckle variety.

Rights and lefts, repeatedly bouncing off this guy's skull.  By this time, the light had changed and I was stopping at a stop at the southwest corner of the park.  Just as the passenger I'd just picked up, got situated, the guy in the yellow shirt had broken free from the beating he was receiving and hightailed it for the bus.  Close behind him, was the person in the dress.  I say person, as this was not a young woman like I had supposed, but a man.  A bearded man, running after this younger fella.  I could now see that the fella in the yellow tee, was just a kid, probably no more than twenty years old or so.  

"Get me out of here!" the young fella cried, "That guy's f*cking nuts!"

Not realizing the situation, completely, I blurted out, "Dude.  You just got your ass beat by a guy wearing a dress."  Admittedly, now that I've voiced the quote out loud, that was definitely a dickish thing to say to a guy, especially one who's bleeding from his forehead.

As I pulled away from the curb, the bearded dress-guy was breathing on the door.  Nervously, the young fella, continued his explanation. "I think he's one of those f*g people." (His words, not mine, but... Yeah.  I suspect he may have been light in the loafers, so to speak.)

We arrived downtown, where my supervisor met up with me.  I'd call City Emergency to arrange for the police to meet the fella so he could give a statement as to what happened, which if I were to speculate, the kid likely approached the man in the dress and called him a vulgar term and was greeted with a pummeling.  I don't know and if that were the case, I doubt buddy, there, would admit to instigating the situation.  Of course, Mr. Dress-guy could have turned the other cheek, too.  Whatev's.

No one ever f*cked with Klinger.