Secret Agent Man - The Sensuality of Survival
The Sensuality of Survival.
- If you want to keep a secret, never tell anyone.
What if a Martial artist has to face the fact that he sucks, and turns to learning ballet instead. Now that is comedy.
What made me think of that is a certain situation that occurred in Dunston. Boyo did not understand it at the time because he was only 13. He still hadn't learned to tell the difference between what he thought and the folks around him thought.
When he was 13, Boyo lived straight west of Dunston, known as that because it was forever dieing. A slow and ineffiecient death.
There used to be a chain of stores called the Solo Stores. The name was probably a pun on So Low for the prices that the independent store owners had to stick on their merchandise. On a Saturday night after a particularily uneventful social at the local community hall (uneventful because the RCMP did not have to come and squash a perfectly good round of fights).
A bunch of guys were outside the hall, beyond the light at the front entrance where the bugs were hanging out. Some were there to smoke. The rest just to hang out, away from the music and the pressure of acting nice for their girl firends or the girls they wanted to be their girlfriends. Darnel spoke up and asked if anyone wanted to fight. Boyo was surprised, because Darnel was usually so mild. Loud but mild. Not out of anger, just because he wanted to challenge someone. the guy they all used to call Ricky who was already 16 shrugged and tossed away his cigarette. He rolled up his sleeves and they squared off about 20 feet away from the group. Farther off away from the hall light. The two raised their fists. Darnel shuffled a bit and darted in for the first swing at Ricky's face. Ricky jumped back a little too slow. He got nicked.
Ricky came in with a couple of punches and backed off quickly holding his chin. Another clash and flurry of fists and Ricky backed away. Darnel straightened and dropped his fists. Ricky dropped his. Darnel said, "okay." He grinned. Ricky didn't. They both walked back over to the group. No one said anything about the result of the fight. Mitch popped open his car trunk, brought out a 12 of Club and we drank.
Ricky was quiet and Darnel was laughing and loud, but not brash. Boyo soaked up the silence from Ricky. Somehow, by the end of the night, Ricky got called Rick instead. Darnel had given him the first beer.
From the Flatlands
- If you want to keep a secret, never tell anyone.
What if a Martial artist has to face the fact that he sucks, and turns to learning ballet instead. Now that is comedy.
What made me think of that is a certain situation that occurred in Dunston. Boyo did not understand it at the time because he was only 13. He still hadn't learned to tell the difference between what he thought and the folks around him thought.
When he was 13, Boyo lived straight west of Dunston, known as that because it was forever dieing. A slow and ineffiecient death.
There used to be a chain of stores called the Solo Stores. The name was probably a pun on So Low for the prices that the independent store owners had to stick on their merchandise. On a Saturday night after a particularily uneventful social at the local community hall (uneventful because the RCMP did not have to come and squash a perfectly good round of fights).
A bunch of guys were outside the hall, beyond the light at the front entrance where the bugs were hanging out. Some were there to smoke. The rest just to hang out, away from the music and the pressure of acting nice for their girl firends or the girls they wanted to be their girlfriends. Darnel spoke up and asked if anyone wanted to fight. Boyo was surprised, because Darnel was usually so mild. Loud but mild. Not out of anger, just because he wanted to challenge someone. the guy they all used to call Ricky who was already 16 shrugged and tossed away his cigarette. He rolled up his sleeves and they squared off about 20 feet away from the group. Farther off away from the hall light. The two raised their fists. Darnel shuffled a bit and darted in for the first swing at Ricky's face. Ricky jumped back a little too slow. He got nicked.
Ricky came in with a couple of punches and backed off quickly holding his chin. Another clash and flurry of fists and Ricky backed away. Darnel straightened and dropped his fists. Ricky dropped his. Darnel said, "okay." He grinned. Ricky didn't. They both walked back over to the group. No one said anything about the result of the fight. Mitch popped open his car trunk, brought out a 12 of Club and we drank.
Ricky was quiet and Darnel was laughing and loud, but not brash. Boyo soaked up the silence from Ricky. Somehow, by the end of the night, Ricky got called Rick instead. Darnel had given him the first beer.
From the Flatlands
posted by Rob Riddell at 12:08 a.m.
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