Sun was starting to sink to Midway by the time we made it way out the farmer's road. We'd returned most of the stolen-not-by-us stuff so re-stolen by us to the rightful owners.
"Just hobos," and that's what it looked like with our earnings and treasures in bandanas on sticks over our shoulders. "Why'd ya tell 'em?" One girl just taller knocked the stick off the boy's shoulder. "Bully!" The boy's treasures came out of his kerchief a little bit. He bent to pick them up. A foot stomped on his hand. "I want that," was ordered. He handed the lighter up. "Anything else Sis?"
She lit a smoke and clamped the lighter shut. Coughed a lil'. "You sayin' I'm a sissy?"
"Not while I'm down here on the ground."
Crows lit off from sitting on a scarecrow. "Look! Those things work." The boy jumped up and looked. A saluting hand followed the black birds arcing up and over still tall corn stalks. The pack of cigarettes hit his back. "We weren't done talking."
"Just saying," he pretended to take binoculars from the other girl and look far, far into the future. "That was a cowardly, sissy, thing to do. I was having the perfect day."
"I wasn't." The shorter girl went over and looked her up and down like penguins do. Careful close looking. "I don't see nuthin' wrong with her." More looking around back and lifting jean bottoms. "THERE'S BLOOD!" The boy put his smoke behind his ear as he came right over. He covered his eyes with a hansome hand and asked, "WHERE?" Then made blinds of his fingers and peeked at the pointing to tore up heels. The boy sighed. "You got underwear on?"
The girl jujitzoo'd her whole body around in one turn. "What you askin' for?" The boy's hands went into karate chop mode. "She's not a cinderblock!"
"Just do it!" The shorter girl threw down the quilt patch and stepped back. "Like bison!" The two walked away from each other like duelers, then he screamwhooped and they crashed into each other as they ran at each other. The wrestle drew blood and lasted a good thirteen minutes before the bison crawled off to opposite sides of the road panting and clearing lungs.
"They're testing."
"WHAAAT?"
The woman with the empty typewriter bag let a suited man take the little styrofoam cup from her steady-tremble-steadied hand. She wouldn't let go of the bag and snarled at a man the came close for a kiss, I'll bite it off. His big nose smelled her anyway.
"We can't speak about it," one told another. Hand gestures moved the camera crews to a different gate.
"Transvestite!"
"Towel head!"
"Get to work."
Foots on seven shovels then. Overturned a whole new row to plant.
"I don't think he's that."
"Just let think so."
"Do it!" The handled cup was dipped in the barrel of water and thrown in the air. Little ones shivered and shimmied.
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