original story - 6. funny

by bofa xesjum

dead men tell no tales, bud brown stated diffidently. why are you picking on me again? hogarth asked. picking on you? you do not know what picking on is, brother. i could pick you out of a lineup down at the state police headquarters. you young punks are the problem, always ready to snitch on your pals. i would play ball with you if you would play ball with me. dead men don’t play ball. everything changed the day that lion escaped from the zoo. it is too bad the lion did not tell a few tales. he was all set to, but too many reporters showed up at his trial, and he was afraifd his relatives back in africa would her about it. people do not understand how these things work. some people do. what is that supposed to mean? explain yourself, please. i do not have enough passion or commitment to undertake that task. you always were a whiner, weren’t you? hogarth fell silent, refusing to dignify bud brown’s comment, ad a flower bloomed in a garden on the outskirts of town. young people are the problem - that is just a natural fact. there is not much point in cutting them any slack. the lion is still on the loose, in the hearts of men and women, boys and girls, all over the world. the power of the people runs away like rainwater down a side street. joe stood on the corner, wondering where everybody was. he saw bud brown and hogarth slouching in front of the 7-11 halfway down the block, but they did not count. he tried to remember the heroes of his childhood, who had passion and commitment. he did not think it was funny. he wondered if his old friends with drinks clutched eternally in their hands thought it was funny. somewhere flowers were growing, and bugs were crawling around them. you think it’s funny, don’t you?