Snapshot: Wise Guys

Thursday night is party night.  Leaving work, I hear echoes of music and rallying cries that hasten the merrymaking.  I walk past a troupe of university-age men.  A cloud of scent slaps me as they pass by:  fresh laundry.

I imagine their mommies lovingly washing their clothes at the weekend:  scrubbing their pit-stained t-shirts and skidmarked undies.  Fold the laundry for their little boy, give him a kiss on the forehead and send him back to school.  They wipe a tear away and wonder where the years have gone.

Meanwhile, their little prince is out trolling with his carbon-copy friends.  They don’t speak–they grunt out slack-jawed dopey nasal duh-duhs while they pound beers and try to score chicks.  Flaccid, sullied masculinity.  With a whistle in their step, these stellar knuckleheads stroll along, in tandem and with intention.

 

These thoughts accompany me to the station, and I ride back home.

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