Monday, June 01, 2009

Sick Dog

So I forgot to get milk the last time I went shopping. On Saturday morning, it was apparent that I would have to bomb down to the 7-11 to pick up a quick gallon for the babies and their cereals.

As I was stepping out, I saw a thin, older, blond woman wearing stained jeans and clutching a worn sweatshirt around her. She was making her way to the entrance. A younger man came up behind her. He had a beard, wore a jean jacket and had a ball cap on that looked like it was ordered from an Eddie Bauer catalog. I continued to pace towards where I was parked, but I shifted in my walk to observe them.

"Where are the keys?" He asked.
"Leave me alone." She said.

The guy then grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around to face him.

"Leave me alone!" She yelled.

There were people around. We were all watching this. In retrospect, I realize that his manhandling of this woman was illegal. But I needed a bit more to spring into action and disturb my milk mission.

As I continued to my car, the scene was obscured by one of those big potato chip trucks.

I stood there for a moment and heard nothing from thr area of the conflict. The traffic on Soquel was blasting by and there was a general patina of noise in the air.

Then I saw the younger man walking back in the direction that he had come from, jingling keys in his hand.

"Sick dog." He said. He said it loud enough for all people in his audience.