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2005-09-08 10:34:31 ET They gathered in a small, demented pack of three. One hunched over as if the weight of his years stooped over in disgust had permantly caused him to lean. Another wore navy blue pants now cut unevenly at the knees to create shorts. There was a younger boy as well. He had fashioned an elastic waisted pair of jean shorts off of which dangled an orange carabeaner. The eldest man, with the hunch on his back, wore a pair of glasses hooked by one end to the collare of his grey "Oceanside School District" t-shirt. The man slowly survayed the raw tile floor. Back and forth; one direction, then the other. At the third consecutive pass over one spot, he knelt down upon a crippled knee, key ring clanking at his side . At the floor, he reached for a small round disk, and subtly sturggled to pick it up. His wrinkled fingers pushed the coin back and forth until his angst caused him to retreat in disapointment. The young boy walked in a slight wobble. His head sung toward the ground as he held the wooden brookstick in his chubby hands. Every so descretely, the boy would pass by neighboring tables of pubescent teenagers and look up, but sunnenly look down again. The other man casually gathered the numerous garbage cans from the room and brought them to the front. He pulled the black bags bulging with left over chicken nuggets and empty Snapple cans. As each former occupier of these giant grey barrels were removed, new flimsy ones were replaced inside soon to be sufficated with plates. As the clock danced away its prescious minutes, the three men scurried around the room like mice - making sure every inner working was as it should. Throughout their escapades, the many hormonal girls and boys in the room barely noticed their simple presence. And the bell rang, the kids ran and the three men continued on their unspoken journeys. |
