Thought I was in for a teen gang shakedown mere moments ago, as neighbor pal Andrew wheeled into the backyard with a silent teen girl and another boy. They rushed back as I arrived, I made no great welcome to them and then we spoke. I'm thinking Cheesh, what's this, these kids going to case my recent purchases in the car, going to ask for some money or beer-buying favours in exchange from protection from the band of roving teen thieves who are First Ward-bred.
Nope.
Andrew, who, with his twin would be excellent models for my work however their crack-addled pops keeps that sentiment from becoming realer, had hands that looked like they had recently been dragged from the back of a moving vehicle for a moment or working on a highway teen chain-gang. What the HELL happened to your hands, I queried, being the hand aesthete that I am.
Bikes.
His teen answer. Short, sweet, succinct.
Ah yes, bikes.
Fucking bikes with spokes and things that are all gunky and sharp and such.
Onwards to Sunday meanderings.
Teen Gang Love.