There’s this guy who lives across the street from us. He lives with his grandmother, and he has a bunch of friends who come over. They mostly just loiter, occasionally they look at cars, sometimes they skateboard. Generally they smoke. We call them the hoodlums. They even have a hoodlette.
Anyway, last night I was taking out the garbage, and I realize that a) there’s a hoodlum leaning against the fire hydrant at the end of our driveway, b) another hoodlum is standing in the driveway across the street, and c) there’s a cop with a large flashlight interrogating the hoodlum on the fire hydrant. So I ran inside and told the roomies and we proceeded to watch as a woman from down the street came up and yelled at the hoodlums, another cop pulled up, and one of the hoodlums smoked a cigarette, then dropped the butt into our yard. Bastard. Anyway, we don’t know what happened except that one of the hoodlums got some stuff from across the street, then drove off with the woman, who had said that she would “take him to wherever he needed to go.” Add that to the cop asking him whether he had a place to stay tonight, and we assume that the hoodlum was staying across the street but something bad happened.
Yes, that was our entertainment for the evening. Now we know that they actually are hoodlums, in fact as well as in name!
Current song in my head:
“This Kiss” by Faith Hill